


Toccata and Fugue in D Minor

by sjhw_tolerance (mscorkill)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:11:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 56,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mscorkill/pseuds/sjhw_tolerance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Jack O’Neill is released from the lock-up at Peterson, where he was imprisoned as a suspect in the attempted assassination of Senator Kinsey, he’s abducted by two men posing as Air Force officers. With General Hammond’s blessing, Sam, Teal’c and Jonas begin a desperate search for O’Neill, assisted by friend and foe alike. Their search leads them to an unexpected enemy and Sam Carter is forced to face her deepest fears in order to save her commanding officer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toccata and Fugue in D Minor

**Author's Note:**

> I first had the idea for this story while trying to think of a plot for a fic where Jack is the one injured and in need of comfort. And since I enjoy writing in the Season Six Stargate world, as I pondered the episodes, I found myself wondering what would have happened if something adverse were to happen to Jack during the events of Smoke & Mirrors. This story is an outgrowth of that very vague plot idea and while it might have become a decent sized fic on its own, the opportunity to participate in stargate_summer allowed me to expand on my basic idea beyond anything I could have imagined. 
> 
> Many thanks to my cheerleading team of Denise and Lisa; along with an extra thanks to Denise for her continuity and plot-hole detecting assistance. And of course, I couldn’t have done any of this without the help and support of my dear friend and constant beta, Wendy. 
> 
> Title courtesy of J.S. Bach. 
> 
> Orginally posted June 2009.

Toccata and Fugue in D Minor 

Charlotte Mayfield made an encouraging moan in the ear of the man pounding enthusiastically into her, keeping her eyes focused on the ceiling and her mind a million miles away from the cramped apartment in Arlington, Virginia that Lieutenant Jason Robinson called home. Her young lover was moderately skilled and she supposed if she put forth more effort, she might actually enjoy herself. But she wasn’t fucking a lowly Air Force lieutenant for pleasure—it was totally business on her part, even if the besotted lieutenant thought otherwise. 

In the year she’d been on Earth, Charlotte had already made great progress, becoming the vice-president of marketing at Farrow-Marshall after her predecessor had fallen victim to an untimely—and fortuitous—accident. And she’d spent the last six months researching and then cultivating contacts at the Pentagon before finally zeroing in on her target, a low-level computer analyst who had once upon a time been assigned to a top-secret base deep in the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain. 

It was funny, she mused with a slight moan followed by an encouraging thrust of her hips, she hadn’t planned on staying on Earth for any longer than it took to keep Qetesh from finding her. It was a shame really, they’d had a good alliance but the other woman had seen fit to betray her, what else could she do but abscond with the Al’Kash and the few items of value available? It had been more luck than anything else that she’d landed on Earth, but when she’d realized the wealth and power that could be had with very little effort, she’d decided to stay. And with access to the right information, she expected to accumulate even more wealth and power.

She could tell by the grunts and groans of the man on top of her that her willing—albeit unwitting—pawn had reached his climax. Charlotte let out a well-practiced moan, squeezing her legs tighter around the lieutenant’s hips and reciting his name in a breathless litany guaranteed to convince him he had brought her the ultimate pleasure. 

“Oh Jason,” Charlotte purred throatily when his sweaty body finally collapsed on top of her. “That was incredible.” He grunted in response and nuzzled her neck with a slobbery kiss that had her unconsciously stiffening, but she forced herself to relax, lightly running her fingers through his short hair. “And after the week you’ve had!”

He rolled off her then, flopping to his back. “Hell Char, you don’t know the half of it!”

Cringing slightly at his abbreviation of her name, Charlotte rolled onto her side, cuddling up against him and resting her head on his shoulder. Idly stroking his chest, she murmured with just enough sympathy guaranteed to open him up. “You poor baby. It must have been terrible!”

“You have no idea! Kinsey’s assassination has everyone in a panic.”

“It’s just horrible.”

“It’s been one damn urgent request after another ever since, all the bigwigs are going crazy.” Then his voice changed. “And Char, you’ll never believe who did it.”

Charlotte could hear the suppressed excitement in his voice and wondered what was going on. Kinsey’s assassination had been all over the news and her main concern was how his death was going to affect the stock market—as well as the under-the-table deals she had going at Farrow-Marshall. Lifting her head off his chest, she looked down at Jason, whose blue eyes gleamed with self-importance. Since he seemed to be waiting for it, she asked, “Who?”

“Colonel Jack O’Neill.”

A rush of excitement flared through her, but she kept her expression neutral, letting just the slightest hint of confusion show in her voice. “Isn’t he from that top secret base where you used to be stationed?”

Jason nodded. “Stargate Command.” The words tumbled out of him then. “He’s like their main guy, a real hotshot hero. Always in trouble with Hammond. I’d see him every now and then, strutting around the base, all cocky and sure of himself. Smug bastard.” 

He seemed to catch himself for a moment, looking slightly chagrined, so she smiled, lightly caressing his cheek. “Did you know him?”

“Ah…not really,” Jason stammered, “but you know, you hear things. And according to my buddy who’s still there, O’Neill’s always had it in for Kinsey. Claims he went on vacation but there’s video that shows him leaving the scene with a sniper rifle.”

“I don’t know Jason,” she said carefully, her mind racing with possibilities. “You’d think he’d make up a better alibi than that.”

“You don’t know him or that place, Char. All kinds of weird things happen out there. Anyway,” he ran his hand down her back and cupped her ass, his grin turning into a lopsided leer. “They’ve got him locked up at Peterson, pending transport back here. Davis flew out this morning to arrange things.”

Feeling generous, Charlotte didn’t stop Jason when he rolled on top of her again, his mouth immediately fastening on one of her breasts while he eagerly kneaded the other with his hand. She knew about O’Neill, the sworn enemy of every Goa’uld; she’d heard the tales and rumors of his exploits and had felt scorn and contempt for those of her kind who had been outwitted and outmaneuvered by the Tau’ri male. And she also knew of his blending with a Tok’ra symbiote and of Ba’al’s failed attempt to retrieve his memories. 

Jason’s hand slid down her side and he tugged at her thigh, she obliged him by spreading her legs and letting him once more settle between them. Bending her knees, she clutched at his shoulders, digging in her nails slightly and giving her foolish lover a false smile. He thrust into her vigorously, sending the headboard thumping rhythmically against the wall, her thoughts once more far away from the tangled sheets and man pounding into her. 

The plan currently swirling in her brain would be daring, some would even say foolish, but through her connections at Farrow-Marshall, she had certain options available to her that the others hadn’t. She was smarter and she had learned from their failures; Charlotte wasn’t just any Goa’uld, she was Athena, and where other of her kind had failed, she had no doubt she would succeed. 

Jason’s sudden loud groan caught her wandering attention and Charlotte quickly followed suit, emitting a suitable cry of pleasure, once more cradling the sweaty man in her arms when he collapsed limply on her. After an appropriate length of time, Charlotte pressed a quick kiss somewhere in the vicinity of Jason’s ear and wiggled out from under him. He moaned in mild protest, vainly reaching for her; flashing him a brilliant smile, she leaned down and pressed a brief kiss on his lips, easily evading his grasp. 

“You were fantastic, darling,” she said soothingly. “But I can’t stay the night.” She left him in the bed, ignoring his feeble protest, quickly pulling on her discarded clothing. “I’m leaving tomorrow on a business trip and I’m not sure how long I’ll be away.” Pausing at the door, she blew a kiss to her drowsy lover. “I’ll call you when I get back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam grinned happily when she pulled into her usual parking spot at Cheyenne Mountain. It was a beautiful morning, the sky was clear, the sun just peeking over the tops of the mountains; the Colonel had been exonerated and her world would once more return to normal. It had been an unending nightmare since the Colonel had been arrested and falsely accused of Kinsey’s assassination. It had truly seemed like they were going to lose him this time, after everything he had been through during the past year, after everything they had been through, he was finally going to come home…to her. 

Nothing could dull her good mood. The long wait for the elevator didn’t annoy her, the indifferent and sometimes grumpy SFs manning the various checkpoints were greeted with a cheerful good morning—she even found herself humming in the elevator as she made the final descent into the mountain. She had the woman’s locker room to herself and she changed quickly, Jonas and Teal’c would be waiting for her in the dining hall and she didn’t want to be late. 

Leaving the locker room, she headed back to the elevator where she was intercepted by one of the usual SFs. “Ma’am. General Hammond wants you to report to the briefing room right away.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” she replied automatically to the already departing figure. Pressing the button for the elevator, she waited impatiently. Jonas and Teal’c would be waiting; her perfect morning was veering off course with Hammond’s unexpected summons. The elevator arrived and she stepped inside, pressing the button for level twenty-eight. The normally fast ride down seemed to take forever, her impatience growing when a thought occurred to her. Maybe Jack was already back, maybe the reason Hammond had called her to the briefing room was because he was waiting there for them.

It was with a somewhat lighter step that she exited the elevator, once more smiling brightly as she rounded the last corner to the briefing room. Her smile faded and her step faltered when she saw Teal’c and Jonas sitting at the table, their expressions somber.

“Hey guys,” she said, that sick feeling that had been haunting her since the Colonel’s arrest returning. “What’s up?”

Hammond emerged from his office, a grim expression on his face. “Major, have a seat.”

Sam slowly sank into the chair next to Jonas and waited for Hammond to take his usual place at the head of the table. She looked enquiringly at Teal’c, whose frown merely deepened. 

Hammond folded his hands in front of him on the table. “Yesterday morning, Colonel O’Neill was transferred from the high security lock-up at Peterson to Andrews.”

“Transferred?” she repeated stupidly, her brain refusing to understand. She’d been in DC yesterday, working with Agent Barrett to vindicate him. They’d uncovered the conspiracy and broken up the Trust. And Kinsey was alive; Jack should have been released from Peterson yesterday, not transferred to DC. 

“He never arrived.”

“I do not understand.” Teal’c’s voice was a menacing rumble, perfected by years as Apophis’ First Prime.

“Are you saying that Colonel O’Neill has disappeared? How is that possible?” Jonas looked around the table, looking just as confused as she currently felt. “Someone had to order the transfer.”

“So far we have been unable to determine the validity of the Colonel’s transfer orders.”

“So it was a forgery.”

“A damn good one. Good enough to fool the guards on duty.”

“Why would anyone wish to abduct O’Neill? He has been vindicated of any wrongdoing.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Sam commented quietly. 

“Maybe the Trust is still involved,” Jonas added.

“No,” Sam said emphatically. “According to all the intel the NID has, we got everyone with our sting.”

Teal’c raised an eyebrow. “Could there not still be individuals operating without the sanction of their leaders?”

Sam shrugged. “I suppose…but it still doesn’t make any sense. Why kidnap the Colonel after the fact?”

“That’s what we need to find out. Jonas, Teal’c,” Hammond said, “head over to Peterson and see what you can find out from the personnel on duty when the Colonel was taken. You’ll have the full cooperation of the security personnel.”

Sam waited anxiously to hear what Hammond in mind for her, she didn’t have to wait long. “Major, I want you to head back to DC, use your NID contacts.” Hammond stood then, Sam immediately rising; she didn’t think she’d ever seen or heard him look sterner. “Find Colonel O’Neill.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack O’Neill struggled to consciousness; he felt like his head was disconnected from his body, a feeling that unfortunately was all too familiar in his world. He tried to swallow, his mouth was dry as dust and he was sure it tasted like dirty socks, if he’d ever tasted dirty socks. He tried lifting his head, but the wave of dizziness that rushed through him had him quickly abandoning that line of action. 

“Carter?” Jack could barely croak out her name. He tried again, swallowing hard and clearing his throat. “Carter?” He waited, straining to hear her, but there was no answer. It didn’t make sense, she was always there. He tried to sit up, the dizziness that hadn’t quite abated returned, and that’s when he realized he was restrained. His head flopped back down onto the hard surface and he lay panting, fighting the nausea and the panic that rose up from his gut. 

He tried moving his right arm, the heavy weight of the restraint around his wrist allowing barely any movement at all; his left arm was the same. Cautiously opening his eyes, he looked down his body, his vision slightly blurry but still clear enough to make out the rough shape and color of leather restraints. He closed his eyes; relaxing back on what was apparently some kind of hard table. He moved his legs experimentally, not really expecting anything different, but just to make sure. And he was right, he could feel the heavy leather bands around his ankles. 

“Carter? Teal’c?” He tried again, calling their names in a loud whisper, when it all came flooding back to him. Shit…they’d come to take him to DC. He’d been escorted out of Peterson, still in his orange jumpsuit and chains, by two men wearing dark suits and dark glasses, with paperwork that made the lieutenant in charge of the prison section hand him over without even blinking an eye. He remembered protesting, demanding that the lieutenant call Hammond, but his protests had been ignored and he’d been stuffed in the back of a black SUV.

His memory got even fuzzier then…he had a vague recollection of a woman and something being held over his face. No doubt he’d been drugged, given the way his head and the rest of his body currently felt. So, unless the Air Force had suddenly changed their policy for transporting prisoners, it was probably a safe bet that he wasn’t in DC—or even Colorado anymore. Jack wasn’t sure he liked the possibilities of who had the power, or the balls, to kidnap him from beneath the Air Force’s nose. He’d made more than his share of enemies over the years, on this planet and others. 

But on Earth…the most likely group was the NID or whatever name they’d currently adopted. There were even grimmer possibilities, but the last he knew, there weren’t any Goa’uld on Earth, just the usual power-hungry politicians and corporate megalomaniacs. He needed to concentrate, formulate some kind of plan for when his captors showed up. With that in mind, Jack carefully lifted his head again and attempted to take a survey of his surroundings—attempted being the operative word. He couldn’t see much, there were screens around his…bed, for lack of a better word, the only light coming from somewhere behind him. And he wasn’t wearing his prison orange anymore but was dressed in a blue scrub suit like they wore in the hospitals, just minus the shoes and strapped down to a table.

He must’ve drifted off again, because he suddenly woke up when a bright light shown in his face.

“Ah good,” a feminine voice drawled, cool fingers capturing his chin. “You’re awake.”

Squinting against the light, Jack opened his eyes, the room coming unsteadily into focus. The blonde looking down at him smiled. That panicky feeling burst out of his gut full-force when her hazel eyes glowed in that oh-so-familiar way and she spoke again, the tell-tale reverberation present in her voice. “The great Colonel Jack O’Neill, hero of the Tau’ri. I have heard much about you.” She leaned closer, her eyes roving over his face and her fingers relaxing a bit on his jaw. “I am your goddess, Athena.”

“Athena? Wasn’t she the Warrior Princess?” The slap was swift and sharp, rocking his head to the side. He moved his jaw experimentally, half expecting it to be broken.

“Mock me while you still can, but know this.” She grabbed his jaw again, squeezing so hard Jack knew he’d bear bruises in the shape of her fingers. “Whatever Ba’al, Apophis, Sokar or any of my other brethren have done to you will seem like nothing once I am finished.” She bent over him and Jack stiffened, her hair long hair brushing against his cheek, her breath warm against his skin and her low voice in his ear raising the hairs on his nape. “Where others have failed, I won’t. I will have your memories…Tok’ra.”

Jack felt that hopeless sense of despair that had overcome him when he was a prisoner of Ba’al awaken deep inside him, but he’d never let this bitch see his fear. “I told Ba’al and I’m telling you, lady. I don’t remember a thing. Nada. Nothing.”

“Prepare him.” 

Jack felt the light caress of her fingers trail down his throat and then she disappeared. His bed was suddenly surrounded by people; he felt the cold swab of something wet on his inner arm and he started to struggle again. Rough hands held his shoulders down and when he felt the prick of the needle in his arm, anger and fear spread through him. “Bastards!” he shouted, or tried to shout, his brain already fuzzy, his words slurring. “You won’t get away with this….”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This isn’t good,” Jonas said, watching while the two bodies were removed from the SUV and wheeled to the waiting coroner’s van. He’d recognized the two men immediately from the surveillance video from Peterson, the dead men were the very same ones who had abducted Colonel O’Neill, courtesy of the forged transfer request. 

“It would appear that we are too late,” Teal’c rumbled.

“What do you make of it?” Jonas asked, peering into the driver’s window of the abandoned vehicle. The interior was spotless and he’d be surprised if the police found any fingerprints or any other clues, related to the Colonel’s abduction.

Teal’c, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses and a hat pulled low over his forehead, walked slowly around the vehicle. Jonas waited patiently until the big Jaffa finished his survey and returned to stand at his side. “So?” he asked quietly, well aware of the numerous police and other crime scene personnel milling around them.

“Another vehicle was here. There are tire impressions from another vehicle, along with foot prints and the tracks of someone being dragged out of the SUV to the other vehicle.”

“Colonel O’Neill,” Jonas murmured, already envisioning the scene. The two faux Air Force officers who had taken O’Neill from Peterson drove to a prearranged meeting in this isolated location. Once here, the exchange had been made—O’Neill was transferred to another vehicle—and then the kidnappers, no longer necessary and sure to become a liability, had been eliminated. 

“So it would seem, Jonas Quinn.”

“Where could they have taken him?” Jonas asked, not really expecting an answer. The area where they had found the abandoned SUV was on the edge of an industrial tract; warehouses and large industrial complexes were spread out in the distance before fading into the vast prairie that was southeastern Colorado. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Indeed.”

The coroner’s van drove off, leaving a hazy trail of dust in its wake. With the van gone, Jonas could see Colonel Reynolds deep in conversation with one of the sheriff’s deputies that had been at the scene and he watched with interest when the deputy got into his vehicle and drove off. Reynolds looked their way and made his way over to them.

“Colonel Reynolds, what have you discovered?”

Reynolds mouth was set in a tight line. “They ran the license plates of the SUV. It’s a rental car and they’re still tracking down the driver’s license and credit card used to pay for it, but I doubt it will do much good. This looks like a professional job.”

“It appears that Colonel O’Neill was taken from this place in another vehicle.”

“Yeah,” Reynolds agreed, “that’s what the sheriff thinks too. But we have no way of knowing what kind of vehicle unless they can make a match off of those tire tracks and even then…well….”

“It may be too late for O’Neill.”

“They went to a lot of trouble to get him, Teal’c,” Jonas interjected. “If they were going to kill him, why not just do it here? Why take the additional risk of transporting him somewhere else?” 

“Someone has sure gone to a lot of trouble,” Reynolds muttered. The three men stood silently for a moment and then Reynolds added, “Well, I better call Hammond. Give him a report.”

Jonas nodded. “And I better call Sam.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why isn’t it working?”

“Son of a bitch!” Perry Wyatt yelped, nearly knocking his can of soda over on the keyboard. Whirling around, he opened his mouth, but he quickly snapped it shut. He’d already learned the hard way that Charlotte Mayfield didn’t take criticism very well. “Sorry,” he muttered, his muscles jerking slightly and he forced himself to sit still and focus on her. He couldn’t screw up—and he had to keep Ms. Mayfield happy—because she held the keys to his particular prison and his supply of ice. 

“I don’t like to repeat myself, Doctor Wyatt.”

Wyatt’s eyes skittered past her, where he could see the man laying immobile on the exam bed, finally quiet and either unconscious or asleep. Reaching into the pocket of his lab coat, Perry fumbled for his cigarettes, his mind racing for an answer while he carefully extracted one of the cigarettes and lit it with a shaky hand. Taking a long drag, he exhaled and finally looked at Mayfield. 

“It is working,” he told her with unexpected defiance. “It just isn’t working the way we expected.” He deflated a bit, his voice taking on its usual whine when she continued to glare at him. “I told you we were just beginning to learn their full potential when the funding got pulled.”

“And you were fired.”

He grimaced, taking another drag on the cigarette. “I was framed. I never cooked meth in the lab.”

“No,” Mayfield commented, “you just used on the job.”

“Everybody does,” he muttered. There was a low groan from across the room and Perry tensed, his eyes skittering to the holographic image now emanating from the memory recall device attached to O’Neill. For the past twelve hours they’d been treated to a blurry and erratic kaleidoscope of O’Neill’s memories; random and in no apparent sequence, the view screen flashed scene after scene, none of them making any sense to those watching and according to Mayfield, had nothing to do with the information she sought.

“You’re recording this?” 

Wyatt bit back a smart retort. She’d only asked him that every time something appeared on the screen and his answer was always the same. “Yes, we’ve got everything recorded and backed up on the hard drive.” She ignored him—which wasn’t unusual and Wyatt watched warily as she walked over to O’Neill, her high heels tapping on the cement floor. The medical technician monitoring O’Neill and the equipment quickly stepped back out of her way.

“Maybe we need to increase the dosage,” she murmured. “Give him another dose.”

The technician nodded and Wyatt hurried to her side, he’d seen what was in that drug cornucopia she called ‘the blood of Sokar’ and it chilled him to the bone. The ingredients of her cocktail made his drug making days look like he’d been cooking up chocolate chip cookies instead of cooking meth. “Are you sure that’s wise? Maybe it’s the modifications you made to the nanites—”

She turned on him then, her eyes flashing, and she growled. “Impertinent fool! I have improved upon the design. The problem is obviously with your inferior Tau’ri technology.”

Wyatt quickly backed up several spaces at the deeper sound of her voice, not wanting another backhand across the face. “Hey,” he held up his hands. “It was just an observation.”

“In the future, unless you have something useful to offer, keep your observations to yourself,” she snarled. The technician stood there, the syringe in his hand and Mayfield turned on him. “Give him the drug, you fool.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man murmured, quickly attaching the syringe to the intravenous line running into O’Neill. 

Wyatt’s eyes flicked over the monitors. He wasn’t a medical doctor, but he knew enough about physiology to know that O’Neill wasn’t doing so great. His heart rate was too fast, the beep of the monitor almost continuous, his blood pressure looked dangerously high and his breathing seemed too fast and labored. He looked like hell, too; his skin had turned a sickly gray color in the twelve hours since they’d started the experiment and he was drenched with sweat. Wyatt shivered slightly and deliberately turned his back, heading back to his computer console.

“There! I told you!” Mayfield’s voice rang out in triumph.

Wyatt looked back over his shoulder, a stable picture had coalesced on the view screen. Turning to his monitor, he reached out with shaking fingers, cursing slightly under his breath as he fumbled with the dials, finally bringing the picture into sharp focus. He frowned, watching in fascination at the memory they were stealing out of O’Neill’s brain. It was almost like watching a movie. O’Neill, and a woman that he recognized as Major Carter, were alone in some kind of cave-like structure. O’Neill was lying on the ground, obviously injured, and Carter was kneeling next to him. His face was rigid with pain and she pulled on his leg, her face reflecting his agony.

“Aargh! Oh, God...ah.”

“Okay, I think its set.”

“You THINK its set?

“I'm positive. All we have to do is put a splint on it and you'll be as good as new.”

The scene suddenly fizzled out, the screen blank. Wyatt frantically adjusted his equipment when the sound of the medical equipment going crazy behind him had him turning around on his stool. Shit…the heart monitor attached to O’Neill had gone flat line; Mayfield was screaming at the group of three med techs who were now clustered around O’Neill.

“Fools! If he dies!” she threatened, hovering in the background while the techs worked frantically. 

It was just like a scene from ER, Wyatt thought hazily, only this was real…. One of the techs was holding some kind of mask over O’Neill’s face, rhythmically squeezing the bag attached to it, the same tech that had given him the drug was now injecting something else into the IV and the third one had pulled over what Wyatt recognized as a defibrillator. He heard cloth tearing and then the tech slapped two pads onto O’Neill’s chest.

“Clear!” he shouted. Everyone backed away from the bed, including Mayfield, and when the tech pressed a button on the machine, O’Neill’s body jerked off the bed with the force of the electrical shock. Wyatt found himself holding his breath while they waited, all eyes glued to the heart monitor when O’Neill suddenly took a deep, shuddering breath and the heart monitor started beeping steadily, the straight line gone and the characteristic spikes of a heart beat scrolled across the screen.

The lead med tech, a man named McCormack, bent over O’Neill, listening to his chest with a stethoscope. When he straightened up, he looked right at Mayfield and spoke, his voice firm. “He’s had enough for today.”

“We were just making a breakthrough!” she protested.

“He almost died. He needs a break.”

Wyatt waited tensely, relaxing marginally when Mayfield nodded. McCormack turned back to O’Neill. “Take him to the holding room.” 

His reprieve didn’t last for long; as soon as O’Neill had been disconnected from all the monitors and equipment and wheeled out of the room, Mayfield turned and walked towards him, her high heels clicking almost ominously on the floor. Wyatt could feel the frustration radiating from her, yet her voice was calm when she spoke. “I want a detailed breakdown of everything we’ve recorded so far.”

Wyatt blanched. He’d hoped with O’Neill temporarily out of commission that he’d get a break—and a fix. “That’ll take hours,” he protested feebly.

Her lips curved in a caricature of a smile and she reached into the pocket of her tailored red blazer, tossing a small baggie on the desk in front of him. Almost shaking with relief, Wyatt grabbed the baggie containing the tiny chunks of crystal ice, already fumbling for his pipe. 

“Take your drug and then get started.” Mayfield drawled, her distaste evident in her face. Turning and walking away, she disappeared into the depths of the compound, her voice drifting back to him, “And remember, Doctor, I don’t like to be disappointed.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam had a lot of time to think on the flight to DC, too much time. Too much time to rerun the events of the past few days over and over again, trying to see what she’d missed. Their sting had been air-tight, the head honchos of the Trust were all tied up with their high-priced lawyers trying to wrangle their way out of attempted murder and treason. She stared blindly out the window of the taxi, the traffic whizzing by them, as frenzied as her thoughts, always coming back to the same dead end. If the Trust didn’t have him, who did? Someone from his past? Or the more likely possibility that it was someone he’d encountered in the years since he’d been at the SGC. 

They left the beltway and headed into the city, the taxi slowing to almost a crawl as the traffic increased, the streets snarled with vehicles and pedestrians. At the time it had seemed the thing to do, go to Washington and take advantage of their current good relations with the NID. But the more she had time to think, the more she felt she would have been better off staying in the Springs with Teal’c and Jonas, following whatever leads they found there. 

Jack had been missing over twenty-four hours now; he could be anywhere…or he could be dead. Didn’t they always say that most kidnapping victims were dead within twenty-four hours? It was small comfort that he was still probably on Earth, but finding him still seemed almost impossible. She closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat, shutting out the world around her. She had to get a grip, to stop thinking so pessimistically. Hadn’t they always gotten him back? Even in potentially more desperate situations? 

But the old fears wouldn’t stay buried; she knew first hand what could happen when you were abducted by your own kind. Sam’s cell phone ran, thankfully interrupting her thoughts and when she recognized the Colorado area code, she answered eagerly.

“Carter.”

_“Sam. It’s Jonas.”_

“What have you found out?” He didn’t seem offended by her abrupt question and answered immediately.

_“We found the two men who abducted Colonel O’Neill.”_

“That’s great! What—”

_“They’re dead. We found them shot in the head in the SUV that was identified from the surveillance cameras as the one they took the Colonel away in.”_

“What about tracking the SUV?”

_“It was a rental. Fake ID’s used to rent it. We’re pulling the surveillance from the rental agency, but the clerk only remembers one man.”_

“There had to be someone else involved,” she murmured.

_“The local police are going over the vehicle for any fingerprints or other evidence.”_

“Where were they found, Jonas?”

_“On the east side of town, off Highway Twenty-four.”_

“Isn’t there an airfield near there?”

_“Yeah…I think so. Let me check.”_

She heard some rustling and voices, then Jonas came back on the line. _“There’s a private airfield just two miles from where they found the bodies.”_

“Check it out. See if you can find out all the aircraft that have landed or taken off from there in the last forty-eight hours.”

_“Got it, Sam.”_

“Oh…and Jonas? Send all the information you have on the two dead kidnappers to Agent Barrett. He may be able to help us identify them sooner than the local police.’

Sam hung up just as the cab pulled in front of the building where Barrett’s office was located. They had a lead, even as insubstantial as it was; they at least knew that he hadn’t been killed immediately. Paying the driver, Sam stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was a beautiful morning, people rushed past her, intent on their destinations and their lives. She wasn’t a big one for praying, but she seemed to be doing it a lot lately. “Please let him be safe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack struggled to consciousness, his thoughts slow and confused. He felt like crap, no…worse than crap. His whole body ached; his chest hurt every time he took a breath. His mouth still tasted awful and his throat was so dry, he could barely swallow. He moved his arm, realizing somewhat fuzzily that he wasn’t restrained. That’s important, he told himself, but he couldn’t get his body to follow his commands, his arm falling limply down to his side.

“Carter?” he managed to croak before he remembered she wasn’t there. He was alone.  
He heard some movement, his entire body jerking when he felt a cool washcloth placed on his forehead.

“Just relax,” the unfamiliar feminine voice instructed.

“Water?” he hazarded, anticipating that this woman wasn’t here to torture him. He heard movement again and then a firm hand under his head, helping him to raise it. It was too much trouble to open his eyes, so when he felt the straw poking at his lips, he immediately opened his mouth, sucking down several swallows of the cool water before it was pulled from his mouth. He rumbled a protest, but the voice that responded was firm. “That’s enough for now.”

His head was laid gently back on the pillow and he realized shakily that he was breathing too heavily from something as miniscule as taking a drink of water.

“I’m just going to check your blood pressure now.”

Jack lay passively while she wrapped the cuff around his arm. His head was throbbing and it hurt to even try to think, but he had to ignore the pain and concentrate on finding out as much as he could. His memory was fuzzy. He knew he’d been kidnapped, brought some place and drugged, but all he kept remembering were random flashes and memories from his past. The present seemed curiously blank. 

“Where am I?” he murmured, his voice weak.

He felt something pressed to his chest and the voice said. “Take a deep breath.” He tried to obey her, but it hurt too much and all he could do was take several shallow breaths before he had to stop.

“Hey!” he protested feebly, when first one and then the other eyelid were tugged open, a bright light flashing in them. He tried to bat her away, but couldn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Jack blinked fiercely, his eyes watering, but once the spots dancing behind his lids disappeared, he found he could open his eyes. He looked around, moving his head cautiously. It was a different room than before, he realized, vague impressions returning. It was smaller and had the familiar air of a hospital room. Thankfully the lighting was low, but it was enough that he could see there were no windows, no other furniture than the cart on which he laid, one chair and a counter where the woman stood, her back to him.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice slightly stronger. She didn’t answer, so he tried another question, “Where am I?” She continued to ignore him and Jack felt anger start to creep in to the fear and panic that continued to fill him. 

“Damn it! Tell me what’s going on!” He tried to yell it at her, but it came out more of a plea. He started to move restlessly on the bed, managing to grab hold of one of the side rails. If she wouldn’t help him, he’d get out, find out for himself what was going on.

Jack somehow managed to rise up to almost a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the pain and nausea that filled him until everything was blurry and he could feel himself start to black out. He dropped back down onto the bed with a low groan, his muscles quivering from the stress, his breathing fast and ragged. He heard her footsteps and forced his eyes open, her face swimming into focus. He had the brief impression of someone about his age, her dark hair pulled back from her face, her expression cool and impersonal.

“It’s better if you don’t try and fight it,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact.

“Fight what?” he whispered, watching with growing despair while she injected a syringe full of something into the intravenous line going into his arm.

“Just try and relax,” she murmured again. 

Jack felt the drug spread through him, his consciousness already fading, but he still knew she was lying when she murmured, “Everything will be alright.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marta Kincaid picked up the damp wash cloth from where it lay on the mattress next to her patient’s head. Laying the back of her hand on his forehead, she checked his temperature the old-fashioned way. He still felt too warm, so she ran cold water from the sink built into the one counter, wringing it out and placing it back on his forehead. She could take his temperature with a thermometer, she supposed, but in the long run it wouldn’t matter, so why even bother.

Checking his IV, she made sure it was running okay before she repositioned him. She wasn’t a big woman, and even though he wasn’t a small man, with very little effort she maneuvered her sleeping patient onto his side. She propped him up with a pillow behind his back; it would be safer for him, he was completely out of it now, the sedative doing the trick. Marta took his blood pressure again and listened to his lungs. She suspected he was developing a pneumonia, the crackles she heard when he breathed worrying her. But again, that information wouldn’t matter to anyone but her. The only thing that mattered was that he didn’t die until they were done with him.

Marta sighed softly, sitting down in the chair by the counter. Taking her clipboard, she jotted down a few notes on the flow sheet. Finished with her charting, she opened up one of the drawers and pulled out a Word Search paperback. Flipping through it, she finally stopped at one and began the search, but she couldn’t concentrate, her thoughts drifting to the man in her care.

She looked over at him, noting his breathing was somewhat easier, his skin pale beneath his tan. She’d taken care of lots of test subjects since she’d started working for Ms. Mayfield, but this man was different. Marta had no illusions that the research done in this supposed clinical research lab was remotely legal or ethical. But since she herself was in a position where she couldn’t be too particular about legality, she kept quiet and did her job—for which she was well compensated.

It didn’t matter to Charlotte Mayfield or their usual clientele that she’d lost her nursing license and was practicing without one. The only thing that mattered was that with the money she made, she was able to send her grandson to a private boarding school where he could get the help and attention he needed. Before she’d stumbled into her current position, her life had been a mess; her daughter in prison, the boy’s worthless father long gone, and her teen-aged grandson already on the verge of following in his mother’s larcenous footsteps. 

She’d been at her wits at end at what to do for the boy until Eddie McCormack, a nurse anesthetist she’d know from the days before she’d lost her license due to drinking, had approached her with a job offer that seemed too good to be true. And it was too good to be true—or legal—but Marta had ignored her conscience and taken the job, consoling herself with the rationalization that if she didn’t do it, someone else would and why should she lose the opportunity to make sure her grandson had a better life?

So she took care of her patients, never allowing herself to question what was being done to them—or why. Until now…until this man. She’d been doing this job for almost six months and if there was one common denominator to all of her previous patients, it had been that they were homeless, brought in off the streets by the lure of making money for a few days as a medical research subject. Marta wasn’t privilege to what research actually went on, she worked on call and whenever she was needed, McCormack called her. Sometimes it was only for a few hours, sometimes for several days, until the point when her patient wasn’t returned to her and discharged. And she was careful to never ask in what condition or where they were at discharge.

Marta knew her patients well, the lost and alone, unkempt and down-trodden, oftentimes mentally ill, resigned to their fate and pathetically grateful for whatever monetary gain they had been promised. All of which told her this man was different. She only had to look at him to know he wasn’t living on the streets. He was well-groomed, his gray hair recently trimmed, his nails and fingers were clean, with no ground in dirt. He was healthy—or had been until he’d been brought in as a subject. 

Forcing her gaze away from him, Marta stared at the jumbled letters of the puzzle. It wouldn’t do any good for her to ask questions or to start to care about him. Her job was to watch and take care of him until they were finished. But she couldn’t stop the tiny voice niggling at her generally dormant conscience that someone, somewhere, would miss this man.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack tried to scream, the old nightmare ripping through him. Her beautiful and arrogant face was bent over him, her dark eyes filled with a lust that chilled him to his very soul. There was no getting out of this one, Hathor was going to snake him and there was nothing he could do but pray that Carter and Daniel escaped. 

_“And when you awaken from the joining, you will kneel and pledge your loyalty to us.”_

Her mocking last words echoed in his head and he shuddered with revulsion at the symbiote twining around her arm. He tried to scream again, the agony ripping through him and tearing away at his defenses when the snake bored its way into his brain.

The pain was horrific and he whimpered, his senses overwhelmed. 

_“I will make it all go away.” A voice that wasn’t his own whispered from his inside his brain. “Surrender to me.”_

God, he was sinking, drowning in pain, unable to focus on anything except the horror that was unfolding inside of him when he heard a voice from a great distance.

_“O’Neill! You must fight it!”_

Raleigh was leaning over him, gripping his face. It was hard to focus through the pain and terror, but wasn't the auburn haired woman he remembered from that time, it was the blonde, her ice gray eyes gleaming with the same triumph and arrogance as Hathor’s. 

“I think we’re on the right track now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Charlotte’s smile was smug when she glanced over at Wyatt. They were finally breaking through O’Neill’s considerable defenses. It wouldn’t take much now to get even deeper into his brain and capture all the secrets of the Tok’ra; and once she had that information, she knew she’d be invincible. 

“Increase the dosage,” she snapped to the technician. As she expected, McCormack protested.

“Last time we increased the dosage, he went into cardiac arrest.”

“And if he does this time, you will simply resuscitate him again.” She paused, glaring at the man. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured meekly.

“Keep him alive, McCormack, and I will double your bonus.” As expected, the promise of more money appealed to the man’s basic greed and Charlotte was confident that no matter what else happened, McCormack wouldn’t let O’Neill die. Leaving McCormack and her prisoner for the moment, Charlotte crossed the few steps to where Wyatt worked, monitoring the nanites and O’Neill’s memories.

The scientist frowned. “He’s not remembering the Tok’ra symbiote.”

“No,” she agreed, sitting down in the chair next to him. Crossing her legs and more out of habit than any need to impress Wyatt, she let her skirt ride up, exposing the long length of her legs. “But this memory tells me we’re in the right area of his brain.” Wyatt looked skeptical, but to his credit he kept his mouth shut.

“Send a signal to the nanites to dig deeper here.” She pointed to the image that showed a PET scan of O’Neill’s brain, like a thermal scan, it showed areas of little activity in blues and greens while areas of more intense activity showed up as yellow and red. The area she indicated glowed bright red.

Wyatt’s hands paused over the keyboard. “I’m not sure—”

She cut him off. “When I want your opinion, Doctor, I’ll ask for it.” His frown deepened, but he didn’t say another word, merely turned back to his computer.

Charlotte was pleased. Of course, O’Neill was proving harder to break than she expected, not that she would ever admit that to anyone. But, she was determined to possess his knowledge. And once she did, she’d have not only the Earth, but the entire universe at her disposal. There would be nothing—and no one—to stop her. Leaving Wyatt to his work, Charlotte wandered back over to O’Neill. There was an oxygen mask over his face now and McCormack was busy fiddling with all the monitors, one of the other technicians hovering in the background.

_“Do you know who I am?”_

Charlotte tensed, her head jerked around in surprise at the familiar voice. The recall device hologram showed a darkly handsome man wearing an elegant long coat and a shirt trimmed with lace. She recognized him immediately and her heart started racing. They were so much more than close—

The monitors suddenly went crazy, alarms sounding and the hologram vanished. McCormack shouted, “Get that defibrillator over her now!” He had the breathing bag in his hand now, pumping air into O’Neill’s lungs while the second man slapped on the defibrillator pads. “I told you it would be too much for him!”

Charlotte’s hands clenched into fists at her side, the urge to strike the man almost overwhelming. But she needed him to keep O’Neill alive, so she’d deal with his impertinence later. “Just do your job,” she snapped, before she stalked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sam!” Malcolm Barrett pushed his chair back and stood, crossing the room to where she stood just inside the door to his office. She let him kiss her cheek, managing to muster a smile when he lightly clasped her shoulders and stood at arms length from her, his smile of welcome fading as he studied her. “I’d say it was good to see you, but from the look on your face, I don’t think I’m going to like what you have to say.”

“Can we go somewhere?” she asked. “Have a cup of coffee or something?”

Malcolm nodded, adopting a carefully casual attitude. “Sounds like a good idea. Just give me a second here?”

She nodded and waited while he did something at the computer on his desk, then picked up his phone. “Jolene?” he said, “Something’s come up, I’ll be out of the office for about an hour.” He looked at her then and Sam nodded. “Page me if anything urgent comes up.” He smiled at her and while she knew it was mainly for the benefit of anyone watching them, Sam started to feel like maybe the situation wasn’t quite as bleak as it seemed.

Malcolm kept up a steady stream of idle chatter as they left the building; he did most of the talking, which Sam appreciated. They walked for several blocks to a coffee bar Sam remembered from her days in DC. The place wasn’t too crowded, it looked like they were in that brief lull between the lunch crowd and the afternoon coffee break, there were empty tables both inside and on the outdoor patio. Sam picked a relatively secluded table on the far corner of the patio and waited for Malcolm to return with their coffee.

The sun was bright, the afternoon air warm, but she felt chilled; gratefully taking the steaming vanilla latte Malcolm handed her. She wasn’t surprised when he tugged the second chair at the table closer to her and she scooted over some, acknowledging that like herself, he’d be more comfortable sitting with his back to the wall. Sam waited, sipping the hot coffee and waiting until Malcolm spoke.

“Okay, Sam,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “What brings you back to Washington?”

“Colonel O’Neill is missing.” 

Barrett straightened in his chair, the look of surprise on face genuine and Sam squashed the momentary guilt she felt at suspecting he knew, or had something to do with his disappearance.

“What do you mean missing?” he murmured, before once more adopting a casual pose.

She moved a bit closer to him, clasping her hands around the cup of coffee. “He was taken from Peterson lock-up yesterday with forged transfer papers. Jonas is sending you all the information we currently have about his kidnappers.”

Barrett reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat, pulled out a sleek handheld device and tapped a series of buttons. “That’s not much to go on,” he commented, sliding the PDA back into his jacket pocket.

“Do you think the Trust has anything to do with it?” 

“No,” he shook his head, his voice confident. “What’s left of the Trust is in too much disarray. With their leaders in jail or under suspicion, they don’t have the resources to pull off something like this.”

“What about the NID? Or Kinsey?” In her current state of mind, Sam wouldn’t put it past either group—or individual. 

“No,” Barrett repeated, even more emphatically. He reached out, placing his hand over hers where it rested on the table. “I would have heard rumblings about something like this. I can assure you, Sam, no one at the NID or Kinsey or his staff have anything to do with this.”

“Then who?” she asked. 

“Someone with money and the right connections,” Barrett murmured. 

Sam could feel the beginnings of a headache starting to compete for attention with that sick feeling in her gut. She knew it had been a long shot that Barrett would know anything about the Colonel’s abduction, but it was still a huge disappointment.

“Any idea why they would want O’Neill?”

“Revenge…his knowledge of the Stargate.” She looked at Barrett in exasperation. “Alien technology?”

“Let me track down a few of my sources, Sam,” he added. “It’s a long shot, but there are several ‘companies of interest’ who might have the resources and the motive to go after O’Neill.”

“Thanks, Malcolm,” she said, turning her hand in his and grasping it lightly. “I knew I could count on you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Sam,” he replied. His watched beeped then and he swore softly. “Listen, I’ve got to get back to the office. How long will you be in town?”

Sam knew they’d been clutching at straws that Barrett would know anything right away, but that still didn’t stop the flood of disappointment that filled her. Managing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, she said, “I’ve got a flight back this evening, unless you come up with something concrete….” 

There wasn’t any point in her hanging around in DC on the slim chance that Barrett found out anything. All of their leads were back in Colorado and she couldn’t help but feel that her trip to DC had been a total waste of time.

He nodded and when he stood up, so did she. “I’ll see what I can find out. But Sam?”

She didn’t like the grim look on his face—or look of concern in his eyes. 

“I think you need to prepare for the worst.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Charlotte used a carefully manicured nail to push the intercom button on her phone. “Stephen? Bring me the Washburn file.” She barely acknowledged her assistants response, swiveling in her deep leather chair and looking blankly out the window at her top-story view. She chafed at the necessity of being in the office when she was so close to having O’Neill’s memories, but even if Benton Marshall was an old fool, he still had sharp eyes and would notice her absence from the numerous routine meetings scheduled for the day.

The door to her spacious office opened and Stephen set the folder on her desk. “Anything else, ma’am?” he asked, hovering solicitously on the opposite side of the gleaming wood desk.

“No,” she answered sharply. She supposed he was used to her mercurial moods, because his expression never changed, he merely nodded and left the office, closing the door quietly behind him. Charlotte didn’t even bother looking at the contents of the file, she knew it by heart and had already formulated a marketing plan with which even Benton Marshall wouldn’t be able to find fault. Which left her time to concentrate on more pressing problems, like why a certain Air Force colonel was so resistant to her attempts to exploit his memories.

Swinging back around and once more gazing out the window, Charlotte played over the events of the last forty-eight hours. So far, her nanites had been doing what they’d been programmed to do, retrieving deeply buried memories from the brain of their target. All the other subjects on whom she’d experimented had given up even their most deeply buried and repressed memories within hours of being implanted with the nanites. Of course, none of them had been highly specialized and black-ops trained Air Force officers like Jack O’Neill. 

She wasn’t used to failure and she wasn’t about to give up now. There were still other options; options that carried more risk for the subject, but the rewards of having all the memories of the Tok’ra Kanan would make the risks worth it. And it wasn’t like she had been going to let O’Neill live anyway. Charlotte abruptly stood up, her natural arrogance and confidence returning with her new strategy. Straightening out the jacket of her Chanel suit and grabbing her sleek Gucci clutch, Charlotte walked swiftly out of her office, pausing briefly at her assistant’s desk.

“Cancel my appointments for the rest of the day,” she said, and continued walking.

“But ma’am!” Stephen jumped up, following after her. “What about your one o’clock with Mr. Marshall? He’s expecting a full report on the Washburn account.”

“Tucker can handle it,” she said, not slowing down as she named one of the account executives. 

Stephen caught up with her at the elevator, the curious eyes of the cubicle dwellers on them now. The door opened and she stepped in, turning to face her assistant. “But ma’am,” he protested, a look of faint alarm on his normally impassive face. “What should I tell Mr. Marshall?” 

“I don’t care, Stephen. Tell him anything.” Charlotte punched the ‘close door’ button on the elevator, her lips curving in a slight smile at the full-blown look of panic on her assistants face. She wasn’t too worried, Stephen valued his high-paying position as her assistant and she had no doubt that he’d think of a convincing excuse for that old idiot Marshall. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Nurse?”

Her patient’s voice was weak, but he was awake and Marta hurried over to the gurney, ignoring the relief that filled her. He’d been unconscious for so long, she had been worried that he’d suffered brain damage after that last cardiac arrest. She’d have to call Eddie and let him know too, the man had been haunting the infirmary—something he’d never done before. Whoever this man was, he must be very important. 

“I’m right here,” she said, her hand automatically going to his forehead, first to check his temperature and next, to smooth back his hair. His skin was too warm, his cheeks flushed red and she knew just by touching him that he had a fever. “How do you feel?”

“Like crap.” His eyes fluttered open and Marta was relieved to see that they were clear and aware. Reaching into her pocket for her penlight, she did a quick check, his pupils equal and reactive. He automatically tried to look away, grumbling at her. “Geez…what is it with you people and your flashlights?”

She smiled slightly, reassured by his ill humor. “What’s your name?” she asked next, inflating the automatic blood pressure cuff on his arm. The readout flashed a number she wasn’t too alarmed with, but his heart rate was still too fast.

“Jack.” He frowned and she waited. “O’Neill. Jack O’Neill.” She had no way of knowing if that was his name or not, all of her paperwork merely identified him by number, but he sounded so confident that she made a notation of it to use for future reference.

“Where are you?” she asked the second question of the familiar ‘person, place and time’ litany.

“If I knew that, lady, I sure as hell wouldn’t be here.” 

Marta let that one pass, she hadn’t really expected him to know the answer to that question. Which left one more, and since she didn’t honestly expect him to know the day or the time, she settled for, “What year is it?”

“Two thousand….” His voice trailed off, his eyes were closed. She jostled his shoulder and his eyes flew open. “What?”

“What year is it?” she asked again. 

“Two,” he added. “Two thousand two.”

Putting her stethoscope in her ears, she pulled up his top and listened to his heart and then his lungs. The harsh rattling she heard with each breath she took none too reassuring; if he didn’t already have a pneumonia he was well on his way. Sighing softly, Marta slipped the stethoscope around her neck. She gently touched the reddened areas left on his chest by the defibrillator pads and he winced.

“That bad?” he murmured.

Startled, Marta looked at his face. His eyes held an awareness that told her she needed to remain very careful around this man. “Your lungs are filling up with fluid,” she told him, deciding he deserved at least that much honesty.

“Guess that explains why it’s so hard to breathe.” And then as if to confirm her growing suspicions, he started coughing. He started to struggle, trying to sit up, and Marta quickly raised the head of the cart. The pulse oxygen monitor started beeping like crazy, but after the violent coughing spell was over, it stabilized and her patient lay back against the pillow, breathing heavily.

“You need to try and rest,” she told him. God, it sounded pitiful, even to her ears and Marta realized she’d crossed the invisible barrier of detachment that she kept with all her patients and had started to care about this one.

The look he gave her was one of quiet resignation and he closed eyes that saw too much. “Yeah,” he answered, his breathing still ragged, “sounds like a good idea.”

Marta waited until his breathing evened out and while she knew he wasn’t asleep, she was glad that he had accepted her suggestion. Pulling the chair closer to the cart, Marta sat down and opened her word search book. Eddie didn’t need to know quite yet that he was awake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You want to what?” Wyatt stared open-mouthed at Charlotte Mayfield. There never had been any question in his mind that she was one crazy bitch, but what she proposed to do bordered on insanity. 

She seemed either oblivious to his disbelief or more than likely, she just didn’t care, because she kept on talking, all the while pacing back and forth in the small nook off the main room that held all the computer equipment. “It’s the only way. He’s proving far too resistant to the normal nanites. We can’t afford to waste anymore time.”

“You’re worried someone’s going to come looking for him.”

She stopped and turned, her eyes flashing, and Wyatt stiffened, bracing for a blow when she raised her hand, but instead of slapping him, she lightly drew her nails across his cheek. He couldn’t help the shudder that ran through him with her caress and she laughed, clearly amused by his instinctive response. “What worries me,” she drawled, “is that this primitive technology will kill him before I get what I want.”

“The last time we tried the enhanced nanites, the subject died,” he reminded her. He didn’t bother to add that it had been the only time they’d used the specially-programmed nanites. The subject, a man close to the same age as O’Neill, hadn’t lasted more than minutes into the experiment after he’d been injected with the nanites programmed to produce memories instead of retrieving them. 

She paced within the small area; the tapping of her high heels on the cement floor already starting to grate on his throbbing head. It had been hours since his last hit and he could already feel his skin starting to crawl. Fumbling for a cigarette, he managed to get it lit in spite of his shaking fingers and took a long drag, letting the calming flood of nicotine flow through him.

“In case you haven’t figured it out already, Doctor,” she said, insolently drawing out his title, “this man is different.” She paused, opening her purse and taking out a jump drive that she tossed onto his desk. “Here are the latest specifications. It shouldn’t take you more than half an hour to program a batch of nanites. I’ll have McCormack get him ready.”

“Wait, Charlotte…if you want this done in thirty minutes I’m going to need something more….” Wyatt was used to begging, so he ignored the look of disgust on her beautiful face. As long as she had what he needed, he didn’t care what she thought of him. She reached back into her purse and this time, tossed a bag of crystal meth onto the desk.

“Thirty minutes, doctor.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Jack doesn’t bother opening his eyes when he hears the crackle of footsteps through the brush surrounding the open field where he currently lays, soaking up the warmth of the sun. The meadow noises that he’s gotten used to over the past hour continue unabated, so when the footsteps came to a stop next to him, he merely asks, “Find anything interesting?”_

_“No.”_

_“Where are Carter and Daniel?” he asks next._

_“I believe they are still at the temple.”_

_Jack emits a long suffering sigh and opens his eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight. Raising his arm, he peers at his watch. “We’re due back in an hour.” And then just because he can, he leaps to his feet in one smooth movement. “If they’re going to need longer, we better find out now so we can let Hammond know.”_

_Teal’c inclines his head in agreement and Jack sighs again—just because he can—and he starts walking across the field towards the temple ruins scattered along the far end of the meadow. It’s a beautiful day on PJX-252 and he supposes he should be grateful that it appears to be the middle of summer on this particular planet, given that the last two planets on their mission roster were in the midst of winter or in the middle of the rainy season and they’d returned to the SGC either frozen or covered with mud._

_It doesn’t take long for them to cover the half mile or so to the ruins and thankfully, Daniel and Carter are pretty much where they’d left them. Daniel is engrossed in the intricate carvings that cover most of the rocky ruins and Sam, she’s taking measurements and readings of…well, he doesn’t know of what, but she’s still walking slowly amongst the ruins, one of her many gadgets clutched in her hands._

_“Daniel!” he calls, once they’re close enough. The archaeologist’s head bobs up, his boonie hat dangling from around his neck. “You about finished here?” Carter stops too at the sound of his voice and Jack waits for the inevitable protest from either one—or both—of them._

_But instead of pleas to say longer, Teal’c’s voice suddenly rumbles from behind him. “O’Neill.”_

_“What?” he asks, swinging around and already bringing his weapon up at the tone of warning in the Jaffa’s voice._

_He could’ve saved his breath, because his question is answered by the low rumble that fills the air, rapidly increasing in intensity. Looking up, the bright light of the sun is suddenly blocked, putting them and the area around them in shadow, as a Goa’uld mothership slowly descends out of the sky._

_Jack shouts to Carter and Daniel, he and Teal’c running for whatever cover the ruins can provide, when a ring transporter materializes directly in front of them, disgorging a half a dozen fully armed Jaffa. Jack immediately starts firing his weapon, the chatter of his P-90 cutting through the air, several Jaffa fall, but the ring transporter keeps descending and dropping more and more Jaffa onto the planet. Staff weapon fire races past him, the heat of it singeing his clothing._

_A fresh group of Jaffa emerge from the ring transporter, immediately firing their staff weapons. Jack hears Teal’c cry out and he skids to a stop, looking back to see his friend lying motionless on the ground, staring blindly into the sky, a huge hole burned in his chest, his clothing and flesh still smoking._

_“No!” Jack cries, dropping to one knee and firing wildly into the Jaffa scattered in front of him. But to his surprise, the Jaffa no longer seem interested in him, but are now directing all their fire power towards the ruins—and Daniel and Sam. Crying out in rage, Jack starts running toward the ruins, the Jaffa have his two remaining team members pinned down behind a low wall; above the noise of his P-90 and the staff weapons, he can hear the pitiful sound of Daniel’s side arm and the chatter of Carter’s weapon._

_The battle takes on a surreal quality, his movements seeming to slow down, his senses acutely aware of everything happening around him. He sees Daniel suddenly jump up from behind the minimal protection of the low wall and shout, “Jack!”_

_Confused, Jack stops and looks around; a huge Jaffa suddenly looms up from behind him and before he can react, he sees blood bloom on the Jaffa’s forehead and the man falls. “Daniel, get down!” he shouts, his relief overwhelmed by his concern for his friend. Daniel either doesn’t hear him or ignores his warning, because he keeps on firing his gun at the Jaffa horde._

_“Daniel!” he shouts again, sprinting towards him now. Jack is close enough to see the surprise in Daniel’s eyes and hear the breath rush out of his lungs on a low cry when the staff weapon blast hits Daniel in the middle of his chest. The energy of the blast blows his body backwards, slamming him against another section of stone ruins and he falls like some broken doll, his arms and legs bent at awkward angles, his glasses askew on his face, a look of astonishment permanently fixed on his now-dead face._

_Jack leaps over the stone wall and lands next to Carter; tears are streaming down her face but she keeps firing her weapon. Grim faced, Jack wordlessly joins her in what is now surely a hopeless cause, firing their weapons into the unending host of Jaffa. “Sir!” she cries, dropping her P-90 and grabbing her hand gun. “I’m almost out of ammunition.”_

_He’s almost out too, but he keeps firing. They are surrounded on three sides now and are backed up against the wall behind them; Daniel’s body on the ground beside them a grim harbinger of their eventual fate. They somehow manage to drop the first row of Jaffa advancing on them, when above the sound of the staff weapons, Jack hears the whine of a zat, the blue energy wave dancing and arcing off of Carter. Her eyes are huge with terror, her lips forming a small ‘O’, her body jerking and twisting in the energy beam before she falls, jerking and twitching on the ground._

_Guilt, grief and anguish well up through Jack even as he hears the tell-tale signal of the zat firing again, the second wave of energy engulfs Carter and she stops twitching in the dirt, her eyes open and looking unseeing at him._

_“No!!!!” he roars, leaping up onto the low wall and firing wildly into the Jaffa, anger and rage fueling him so that even when he feels the staff weapon blasts tear into his skin and burn his flesh, he doesn’t care. Nothing matters anymore. They’re all dead and he doesn’t care what happens to him._

_Transport rings unexpectedly appear in front of him and the Jaffa all fall back, dropping to their knees when a single figure materializes in their midst. It’s a beautiful woman, her long blonde hair swept up in an elaborate hairstyle, her svelte figure enclosed in a tight-fitting gold gown, glittering with jewels. Even without the presence of a hand device on her left hand or the personal shield that deflects his bullets, Jack would have instantly pegged her for a Goa’uld. She looks vaguely familiar, though Jack can’t remember her name—or where he has seen her last._

_“You have failed,” she sneers. Her eyes glow and she raises her left hand, the crystal in the center of the hand device glowing brightly. “And now you shall tell me all that you know.”_

“He’s in V-tach!”

“Shut off the device,” Charlotte ordered. 

Wyatt scrambled to do as she asked, the hologram winking out of view. He glanced at her, she had a bored look on her face while she watched McCormack and his med techs work on O’Neill, this time staving off the heart arrhythmia with a dose of medication. He was sickened by what was happening to O’Neill and what was left of his conscience urged him to do something.

“Is this really necessary?” was all he dared to ask though. The part of him that needed the drugs prevented him from saying anything more.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now, Doctor?”

“No,” he hurriedly assured her. “It just seems so cruel, to give him those kinds of memories.” Wyatt shivered, the sight and sounds of the battle had been so real and god…when those people had been killed….

“We are close to breaking him and when that moment finally happens, he will tell me everything I want to know.” 

The cold look on her face stopped him from saying anything else, his craving for the ice overpowered any concern he had for O’Neill.

“He needs to rest,” McCormack interrupted. “I’m having him taken back to his room.”

“Fine,” Charlotte said, waving them off. “We’ve made good progress today. Have him ready in twelve hours.”

“Yes, ma’am,” McCormack agreed; he and the two other techs wheeling the unconscious O’Neill out of the lab.

Charlotte turned then and looked at him and Wyatt cursed the relief that surged through him when she bestowed a smile upon him and tossed another packet of crystal meth at him. He caught it eagerly, his hands already trembling.

“I have some business to take care of this evening, but I will be back later on tonight. Program the remaining scenarios into a fresh batch of nanites, I want everything ready to go by morning and I want to review everything we’ve recorded up to this point. Understood?”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Wyatt agreed, already preparing his pipe. Right now he didn’t really care what she wanted him to do, as long as she kept him supplied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late when Sam got back to the Springs and even though she was exhausted, she couldn’t face the prospect of going to her nice, comfortable home, knowing Jack was still out there somewhere. Since she hadn’t brought anything with her except a small carry-on, she was out of the airport and to the parking lot in record time. She drove through the still busy streets, heading for the mountain; thankfully she’d driven the road so often she could do it on automatic, because her thoughts were everywhere but her driving.

Barrett had called her minutes before her flight was due to leave with nothing new to report. His initial inquires hadn’t yielded anything substantial, but he had reassured her that he’d keep digging. And none of her other contacts in DC had been anymore helpful. She’d even gone so far as to try and to contact Harry Maybourne; but the Colonel was the one who seemed to have the knack for finding him, the most she’d been able to do was to leave a few carefully worded messages here and there, hoping that word of Jack’s disappearance might filter down to wherever it was former spies and disgraced Air Force colonels went.

Sam slowed her car down, amazed that she was at the first checkpoint to the mountain, she didn’t even remember leaving the city proper and turning onto the highway that led up the mountain. After that, she concentrated on her surroundings, forcing her mind away from the hamster wheel in her brain that was spinning out of control. It was quiet on base, none of the guards gave her a second glance as she made her way down into the depths of the mountain. All of them were used to personnel coming and going at all times of the day and night and as she got down into her levels, none of the SFs on duty looked surprised to see her and she thought several of them looked almost relieved when she passed quietly through their checkpoints—or maybe it was sympathy she saw on their faces. 

Of course they would know O’Neill was missing, the SGC was a small town in the truest sense, and she—along with Jonas and Teal’c—weren’t the only ones who would feel his loss. The lights had already been turned down low on level nineteen and she made it to her lab without running into anyone else, feeling uncomfortably relieved to be safe in there. Slipping off her jacket, she tossed it on one of the work benches and sat down at her computer. She’d just check her email, get her notes organized and then go find Teal’c and Jonas.

“Major Carter.” Teal’c stood in the doorway; she hadn’t even heard him. “You have returned.”

“Sam,” Jonas said, squeezing past the bulky Jaffa, who followed him into the room. “When did you get back?”

“Just now,” she said, quickly scanning the subject line of the emails in her inbox. None of them looked like they had anything to do with the Colonel. Leaving them to read later, she wished she had stopped for a diet pop on her way in and when Teal’c placed a familiar red and silver can on her desk, she managed the first genuine smile she’d had all day. “Thanks, Teal’c,” she said, popping the top and taking a welcome swallow of the cold beverage. 

“What did you find out?” Jonas asked, already sitting on one of the chairs in her lab while Teal’c slowly paced the perimeter.

“Not much really,” she admitted. Jonas kept his eyes focused on her while Teal’c continued to pace, but she knew he was listening closely as well. “Agent Barrett is sure that neither the NID nor the Trust are involved.” She sighed. “And Senator Kinsey is still in the hospital, recovering from his injury.”

“You didn’t really think Kinsey had anything to do with it, did you?” Jonas asked.

“No…not really, but he was definitely on my short list.” She took another swallow of her pop. “I even tried leaving a message for Maybourne.”

Teal’c paused then and looked at her. “Did you meet with success?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her exhaustion once more creeping in on her. “I just spread the word that I needed to talk to him. It’s not like he has an answering machine or anything.” Teal’c raised an eyebrow and she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry…I’m just tired.”

“I remember reading about him,” Jonas said. “Isn’t he a wanted criminal?”

“Indeed, Jonas Quinn. However he also possesses an extensive knowledge of the darker under-workings of certain covert Tau’ri agencies.”

“Ah…I can see where a man with his knowledge might be helpful.”

“He helped us out when Teal’c was trapped in the gate buffer.” Sam shrugged, “He might be able to find out things we can’t.”

“Especially if Agent Barrett is wrong.”

“What about you guys? Anything more on the two dead men?”

Jonas got up then and came around to the computer, she scooted her chair over and watched while he pulled up two mug shots. “Enrique Dawson and Nikolai Kozlov. Two local hoodlums who apparently offered their services out for hire.”

The two men looked tough and street smart. “Looks like they made an error of judgment when they accepted this last job,” she commented dryly.

“The police have yet to discover anything of significance in regards to the two men.” 

“Yeah,” Jonas added. “Beyond the positive identification from the video from Peterson and the clerk at the car rental agency, we don’t know anything more about them.”

“Like who hired them.” It looked like their dead guys were a dead end. “What about the physical evidence? Anything with that?”

Jonas shook his head. “Not yet, but last we heard, they were still going over the SUV for trace evidence.”

“We do know for sure that the Colonel was in that vehicle?”

“The guard on gate duty at Peterson remembers seeing O’Neill in the SUV with the two men. They were required to show him their papers, as well.”

“Right.” Of course, she had forgotten they wouldn’t be able to get a prisoner off base without stopping at the main gate and being required to show the proper paperwork. Not that it was going to make any difference in the long run. 

“You mentioned this Colonel Maybourne, Sam. Do you really think he might be able to help us?”

“He has proved useful in the past, Jonas Quinn.”

Jonas turned back to the computer, his fingers flying over the keys and a lurid-looking website appeared on her browser. “I remember reading about this in one of Doctor Jackson’s journals.” He looked at Sam; his expression sympathetic. “They used this website to contact Colonel Maybourne when you were captured by Adrian Conrad.”

Sam shivered slightly, she really didn’t like to be reminded of that experience and then the sick feeling in her stomach lurched again…someone could be doing the same thing to the Colonel. “Leave a message,” she said. “It can’t hurt.”

“I believe if you address your message to ‘Hutch’ and sign it from ‘Starsky’, our chances of contacting Colonel Maybourne will improve.”

Sam smiled grimly at Teal’c’s instructions; Jonas merely looked puzzled but used the code names. “There,” Jonas said, closing the browser. “What do we do next?”

“Pray, Jonas,” Sam said. “Pray.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Charlotte wrinkled her nose in distaste, the odor in the lab was beginning to take on the distinct impression of a men’s locker room. The work area where all the medical equipment was quite and clean; the same couldn’t be said for the computer area. 

Wyatt really was a pig; her frown deepened as she stood at the entryway. The desk top was littered with refuse, the one ash tray overflowing with cigarette butts and ashes. The various monitors were either blank or filled with static, programs beeped demanding attention and her ‘expert’ snored loudly, his face mashed down on the desk, a small trail of drool leaking out of the corner of his slack mouth and onto a stack of what she hoped weren’t important papers.

She found him utterly revolting and if she had any other choice, she’d kill him right now and put him out of his misery. It would be so easy to snap his neck…but she didn’t. Scientists of his caliber weren’t exactly easy to come by, especially disgraced ones with an addiction that made them easy to control. It was too bad she’d have to kill him at the end of this little experiment, unfortunately the addiction that made him so easy to control also made him a liability.

“Wyatt!” Charlotte kicked his rolling chair; his head jerked and slipped off the papers, hitting the desk with a thud. He almost fell over, but managed to catch himself.

“Son of a bitch!” he yelped. He looked around wildly; his eyes were bloodshot, his hair sticking out wildly. “Shit…you didn’t have to do that,” he muttered once he saw her.

Charlotte laughed. “Be glad I find you amusing, Doctor. Now, what have you got for me?”

Wyatt paled slightly at the implied threat and hurriedly gathered up several disks scattered on the desk. “I’ve gone through everything, cleaned it all up and sorted it by session.” He held out the disks to her, smiling cautiously.

“Very well.” Sitting down in the second chair at the crowded workstation, Charlotte said, “Let’s begin.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five hours later, Wyatt was once more snoring into his keyboard. Charlotte ignored him, the final disk had just finished, the scene frozen on O’Neill’s anguished face. He was a complex and intriguing man and Charlotte was almost sorry that he wouldn’t survive, he would have made an excellent consort for her. However, his Tok’ra memories would more than make up for that loss.

Returning to the time stamp she’d jotted down earlier, Charlotte watched that particular memory again. At first watching, she hadn’t placed too much significance in yet another memory of a covert op to destroy a Goa’uld outpost. But after watching all his other memories, the pattern slowly emerged and an isolated memory of Jack O’Neill trying desperately to save Major Samantha Carter, who was trapped behind a force shield, suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

It had taken some time for her to detect the patterns, but once she had discovered what lay at the very heart of the man, determining his means of destruction had been ridiculously easy. Every sentient being, she had discovered during her long life, had a weakness, an Achilles heel, as the Tau’ri referred to it. And now she knew Jack O’Neill’s.

Ignoring Wyatt, she pulled the keyboard close and after several mouse clicks, she started typing. The code raced across the screen, the buffer barely able to keep up as she wrote the new nanite program that would be O’Neill’s undoing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_The wooden seat is hard and Jack braces himself as best he can, swaying and jostling with every bump and rut on the road to the nuclear storage facility. He glances past Daniel to Carter, her head is bent over the body of the sleeping child she holds in her arms. She’s barely said two words since they’ve left the SGC. Even the normally verbose Daniel is unusually silent. As for Teal’c, Jack has no trouble ‘hearing’ the disapproval in his silence._

_Jack sighs, shifting on the bench seat, bracing himself when the driver takes a corner too fast in his haste to make it to the facility in time. His eyes are drawn back to the girl; she looks so young and innocent; she doesn’t deserve to die this way. He can’t stop from comparing her to another child who didn’t deserve to die._

_His jaw tightens and he deliberately looks away from the girl, that same helplessness he felt at the hospital after Charlie snaking through him. He hadn’t been able to prevent his son’s death and he has failed yet another child._

_That her death is the only way to save thousands of others doesn’t offer much comfort when he sees her cradled in Sam’s arms. Jack vows that one day he will have vengeance on the Goa’uld who has done this to her—and them._

_The truck slows down and their convoy passes through the gate, the chain link fence with its crown of razor wire separating them from the rest of the countryside. Jack is out of the truck as soon as it rolls to a stop, holding his arms out to Sam. She passes the sleeping child to him and for the few moments he cradles her soft, warm body in his arms, he feels a fist squeeze his heart so hard for a moment that he wants to drop to his knees._

_“Let’s do this,” he growls, returning the child once more to Sam’s arms. Daniel looks like he wants to protest and Jack isn’t sure what he’ll do if the archaeologist opens his mouth. Thank god Teal’c merely nods, and flanked by two SF’s, they head towards the side door that will lead them to the deeply buried bunker._

_The air is crisp and clean, a hawk circles overhead, its cry the only sound besides their booted feet on the gravel. There are two somber faced guards at the gate, one of them pulls keys out of his pocket and unlocks the thick steel door. It’s dark and gloomy inside, the air stale and still. They walk through the quiet hallways, going deeper into the facility until they arrive at the first elevator. Half of their escort stays behind when they enter the elevator. Sam shifts the sleeping child in her arms._

_“Do you require assistance, Captain Carter?”_

_Jack flashes Teal’c a look; only the Jaffa could get away with offering assistance at this point in time._

_“No, I’m okay.” She doesn’t look at any of them; her eyes stay focused on the elevator light, the numbers counting down the floors._

_Jack can feel the tension in the elevator grow the lower they descend into the facility. When the doors slide open, it’s almost a relief, but the long hallway in front of them proves to be just as claustrophobic. Two of the SFs escorting them remain at the elevator and this time, Jack leads the way. The air is damp and musty this low, their boot steps echo hollowly on the cement walls and then they’re at the final elevator._

_He turns to Sam. “I can take her from you now, Captain.”_

_“No sir, it’s okay.”_

_If anything, she seems to hold the girl closer and Jack doesn’t have it in him to force the issue. He doesn’t need to look at his watch to know how much time they have left. The guard turns the key and the elevator door slides open. Jack keeps his eyes focused on Sam because if he were to look at the child, he knows he’ll never be able to let either of them go._

_“This elevator goes down thirty floors through solid rock. It takes about three minutes to get to the bottom. That gives you four minutes to start back up." Seven minutes to save the world—and kill an innocent child. Sam nods wordlessly and Jack watches her disappear into the elevator with Cassie in her arms. That helpless feeling engulfs him again when the doors shut; the red numbers counting down the floors to destruction._

_There isn’t much to say, they silently watch the numbers like strangers stuck on an elevator, too polite to do anything but stare up at the flashing light. Jack doesn’t know whether to be relieved or scared when three minutes that somehow morph into three hours finally ends and the numbers stop changing at twenty-eight. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Teal’c and Daniel exchange worried looks, well at least Daniel looks worried, Teal’c still looks angry._

_Jack briefly closes his eyes, but he can still see what’s happening, down there, he memorized the schematic. There’s an anteroom and then a larger room, where she’ll put the girl. It will be cold and dark, like a tomb…._

_In minutes that seem to last forever, the elevator light finally starts to change again. Twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six. He deliberately stops thinking about Cassie and thinks about Sam instead, how she’s safe now, how they’re all safe now._

_"Jack, she's going back down!"_

_"The hell she is." Fear and rage race through him, but he doesn’t let any of it show. Never let them see your pain. He’ll deal with this the way he deals with everything and if his companions notice the vicious way he punches the intercom button, they’re smart enough to not say anything._

_"Captain Carter?" He waits for her answer and when the intercom remains silent, he repeats, “Captain Carter." God, what is she doing? He wants to swear and curse at her, but he doesn’t. Stay calm, stay in control, but when he speaks again, he slips and says her name, revealing more than he will ever admit. "Sam, do you read me?"_

_"Colonel, I'm staying."_

_Her voice is as disembodied as she will soon be and he snaps, "Negative."_

_"Colonel, she's awake."_

_"Oh god!" Daniel gasps._

_Shutting down the emotions now threatening to overwhelm him, Jack falls back on the only thing he can. "Captain, Carter, I am ordering you to get back up here, right now.” The silence from the intercom is deafening. “Right now!"_

_When she doesn’t answer, an eerie calm settles over him and since there is nothing else he can do, Jack looks at his watch. One minute. "Alright, why don't you guys clear out." He won’t ask them to stay and witness their deaths, but Daniel and Teal’c exchange a look and then both look at him. He sees the answer in their eyes; evidently no one is going to obey his orders today. They’re a team and it seems no one is going to be left behind._

_"Right"_

_There’s nothing left to do but wait and Jack looks at his watch again, the numbers inexorably counting down. When the display reaches ten seconds, he says, "Alright, here we go.” The numbers start to change too fast and when they reach zero, he closes his eyes and waits…._

_For a fleeting moment he thinks they’re okay and relief fills him, they were wrong, there wasn’t a bomb. But then the first shockwave reaches them and the floor shudders and shakes, chunks of cement and steel falling around them and even as he’s screaming Sam’s name into the intercom, Jack wonders wildly what number they’ve reached on the Richter scale._

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_“Carter! He’s down here!”_

_Jack tries to run through the tunnel, but there are too many people blocking his way. He can’t tell who anyone is, the anonymous white robes of the hooded figures concealing their identities. He knows Seth is down here somewhere, but where? He races down the tunnel, tugging hoods down, revealing the startled and scared faces of Seth’s converts. Everywhere he turns there are more of them, a never-ending sea of white and he forces his way through them. And then he hears Sam._

_“Hey!”_

_He follows her voice through the tunnel, aware that something is happening. Daniel appears at his side and they fight their way through the throng. His panic grows when he sees the tell-tale orange glow of a hand device and the sickening thud of a body hitting the dirt. The fight continues and when he and Daniel finally break through the last group of followers blocking their way, he’s just in time to see Sam go flying through the air and land in the dirt._

_The sound of her neck snapping as she lands will be forever etched in his memory, along with the unnatural angle of her body and her head as she looks up at him with her dead blue eyes. He stares dumbly at the hand device still on her outstretched hand and can’t even comprehend that she thought she could use a hand device, much less kill a Goa’uld like Seth. An all consuming rage fills him and he turns, once more searching for the bastard who killed Sam._

_“Seth!”_

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_"Death?" Okay, this was not what he’d been promised when he’d agreed to let Sam fight this asshole and the same sinking feeling he had when they first discovered Sam had gone missing returns. "Hey, no one said anything about...knives."_

_Sam’s knife looks pitiful next to Turghan’s huge one and while Jack doesn’t normally believe the old adage that size makes a difference, he’s willing to admit that in certain circumstances, like knife fights, bigger is better. Carter might have a level three in hand-to-hand combat, but one generally learns knife fighting out on the streets and he doubts his captain has ever set one of her dainty combat boots onto that kind of street._

_When Jack protests again, this time bringing his weapon up, strong hands seize him from behind and he’s suddenly helpless. He struggles in vain, aware that Teal’c and Daniel are in the same situation and he eventually stops fighting and watches the spectacle unfold._

_At first he’s proud of her, she’s good, able to hold her own, using a cunning and amateurish combination of hand-to-hand and the knife, managing to draw first blood. But she isn’t good enough and his pride turns to fear when he sees her weakening; Turghan is stronger, faster and knows how to use a knife. Fatigue and the stress of the last few days were bound to catch up with her sooner and later and she starts to falter._

_“Carter!” he shouts, trying to make his voice heard about the noisy crowd, “go for his knife arm!”_

_He doesn’t know if she hears him or not, but she keeps doggedly fighting until Turghan manages to catch her a glancing blow to the head and she falls to her knees._

_Jack tries to break free of the men holding him, but he can’t, and he watches helplessly when Turghan ruthlessly kicks her and then straddles her prone body, grabbing a handful of her blonde hair and sharply pulling her head back. He thinks he hears her scream or maybe it’s him, all he knows is when Turghan’s knife descends to her neck is that this shouldn’t be happening._

_Turghan’s knife is dripping with bright red blood when he raises it in victory and when he lets go of her hair, her head falls limply into the dirt. A pool of dark red blood spreads around her head and the look of triumph on Turghan’s face turns into a knowing sneer when he looks over at him and Jack screams, “No!”_

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_Jack rubs the back of his neck, trying to forestall the headache that’s been brewing ever since Carter, courtesy of her little friend, went postal in the gate room. About the only thing that seems to be going smoothly is the return of the Nassyians to their home. Jack looks out into the gate room where the first group of refugees is waiting for the Stargate to engage so they can return home. The control room is busy, the female technician on duty obediently calls out the chevrons as they lock, her voice competing with all the other chatter and noise._

_“Chevron five is engaged.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_From the look on Hammond’s face when he hangs up the phone, Jack figures the general is on the verge of the same headache. “The driver of a transport truck who delivered the Nassyians just reported into the infirmary. Says he blacked out. Doesn't remember driving from the hospital to the base at all!”_

_Jack so did not need to hear that. “Call up security camera one six delta, please.” It’s taking too long and Jack is almost ready to head to the holding room when a static-filled picture fills the monitor and he doesn’t need to see anymore. “Teal'c, let's get down there.” As Jack runs from the control room, he hears the technician continue to countdown the chevrons._

_“Chevron six is engaged.”_

_Confident that Teal’c is behind him, Jack runs to the closest elevator and slides his access badge. For once, the elevator is there right away and he practically runs over the airman trying to exit. He punches the buttons and the elevator starts to move and while he knows time doesn’t really slow down, it still seems like the elevator takes forever to reach level sixteen. He’s through the door as it opens, racing past startled personnel and as they get closer to the holding cells they pass an unfamiliar SF running in the opposite direction._

_“Colonel, the prisoner and two guards, dead.”_

_Jack barely acknowledges the man; doesn’t want to acknowledge his assessment of what they’ll find in the holding cell. She isn’t dead; he refuses to believe she’s dead. Bursting into the cell, he pauses only briefly when he sees the two SFs lying on the floor, leaving them to Teal’c. And then he sees her, lying so still on the floor._

_“These two are dead.”_

_He drops to his knees next to Sam; from a distance he hears Teal’c and isn’t surprised that the guards are dead, but Sam isn’t dead. Her skin is still so warm. She’s still breathing, her heart is beating and he is not going to let her die. “Sam, Sam! Sam!” Why doesn’t she wake up?_

_“Teal'c, get a medical team down here right away!”_

_His voice softens, “Come on, Sam.” He strokes her hair back off her forehead, trying not to remember when his son died, waiting for the ambulance, talking…pleading…praying for his son to wake up. He won’t let it happen again, he won’t let Sam die. It nearly killed him to lose Charlie and seeing her like this, he’s suddenly afraid of what will happen if he loses her._

_“They are on their way, O’Neill.” Teal’c kneels down next to him. “She is strong.”_

_“Let’s hope she’s strong enough,” he murmurs._

_People pour into the holding cell, fighting for space in the small area. Fraiser is there, shouting orders and though he doesn’t want to leave Sam, he gets out of the doctor’s way. One thing Jack’s never liked is feeling helpless, but that’s how he feels now, watching as the medics work on Sam. He wishes there was someone or something he could shoot or blow up or beat up; anything besides standing by and helplessly watching._

_“Who found her?” Fraiser asked, looking up from where she knelt on the floor next to Sam._

_“We did, Doc.” He starts to regain some of his confidence. If there’s anything he can tell Fraiser that will help Sam, he will._

_“Was she conscious?”_

_“No. She was just—”_

_“She’s not breathing!” Fraiser shouts abruptly, cutting him off._

_Her team springs into even more frenzied action as she gives orders and that helpless feeling returns and continues to sweep him along in its wake while he watches them lift Sam’s limp body onto the stretcher. And then he hears someone say, “Her heart’s stopped.”_

_Jack’s hands clench into fists at his side and the controlled response of the medical team suddenly becomes chaotic. Fraiser is shouting more orders, her people scrambling to carry them out and then to his fear and amazement, she climbs onto the gurney and straddling Sam’s body, begins performing chest compressions. Jack feels as if his own heart is getting squeezed with each downward thrust of Fraiser’s hands._

_Not knowing what else to do—and unwilling to leave Sam—Jack follows along behind the gurney as they rush her to the infirmary. It takes longer to go down the five floors to the infirmary than it took him and Teal’c to go from level twenty-eight to the holding cells. Everyone they pass in the hallways is silent, pressing back against the walls to allow them room to pass. There almost isn’t room on the elevator for all of them, but Jack squeezes on, Teal’c right behind him._

_Fraiser counts compressions beneath her breath and Jack wonders how long she can keep up the CPR before she has to stop. The medic controlling the breathing bag seems too calm and Jack wonders if Sam is just another body to him. Jack’s eyes never leave Sam. He senses Teal’c’s presence next to him and he’s glad that he’s there and wonders if the day will ever come when he’ll be able to tell the burly Jaffa how much it means to have him watching his back. And then he wonders if he’ll ever be able to tell Sam how much she means to him._

_The elevator doors glide open and Jack continues to follow the frantically working medical team down the long hallway to the infirmary. He knows enough to stay out of Fraiser’s way once they reach their destination; so he watches from the periphery. The shouted commands and replies of her staff are so much a foreign language flying about in the air around him. He recognizes words and phrases, they haunt his dreams and they’re once again haunting his waking hours. Memories threaten to overtake him and he wipes his eye and concentrates on the here and now, where there’s still hope._

_Epi, EKG’s and EEG’s, interference and brain waves. None of it makes any sense and even Jack can tell that Fraiser is just as confused by the mish-mash of wavy lines on the monitors._

_“We're getting feedback from the EEG. What is this?”_

_“Doc?” It might not be the best time to ask her what’s happening, but he can’t stand back any longer._

_“I don’t know, I've never dealt with this type of situation before. The Goa'uld looks like it's dying and taking Carter with it.”_

_Of course it is, Jack thinks. What else would a fucking Goa’uld do? He watches the monitor, understands that he’s seeing Carter’s brainwaves and those of the snake and can see the difference when the lead medic says, “The parasite is still getting weaker.” He wants to ask about Sam, but then the overhead speakers blare._

_“Security alert, intruder in the embarkation room, code red!”_

_Jack doesn’t care what’s happening in the gate room, the whole of his universe has condensed to this one small room where Sam’s life hangs in the balance. So when Teal’c asks the unspoken question, Jack nods and he knows whatever is happening in the gate room Teal’c will take care of and is one less thing for him to worry about now. The medical jargon still flows fast and furious around him but he understands enough to know the snake is dying. Which is good, if the snake is dead then Sam should be okay, shouldn’t she?_

_And then he hears the words that should bring this nightmare to an end._

_“The parasite is dead.”_

_Fraiser looks at him and he doesn’t know what she wants him to say…to do…. All he has are questions. If the snake is dead, why Sam doesn’t move? Why don’t her eyes open and why doesn’t she look up and smile at him and put a stop to the fear coiling in his gut? But she doesn’t wake up and he realizes numbly that this nightmare is never going to end._

_“Try another milligram of epi. Then prepare for d-fib.” Fraiser’s voice has none of its earlier confidence, she’s grasping at straws._

_Jack watches as they give Sam more epi; he watches when they put the paddles on her chest, sending an electric shock through her that has her body arching up off the gurney. He watches when they do it again…and again…and again. He keeps watching when Fraiser turns off all the monitors and the medics slowly begin to disconnect the various machines and monitors attached to Sam._

_He’s still standing there, watching and waiting for her to wake up when Fraiser walks to his side. She lays a gentle hand on his arm and he finally looks away from Sam._

_Fraiser’s smile is sympathetic, but then her tear-filled brown eyes suddenly glow and when she speaks, it isn’t her voice he hears but one he recognizes from his nightmares. “You should have told me what I wanted to know, Jack. You have no one to blame for her death but yourself.”_

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_“Sir, you've got to get out of here!”_

_“So do you.”_

_It isn’t supposed to end like this, especially not like this. Separated from each other, one of them trapped behind a force shield…not just one of them, but Sam, trapped behind a force shield. It should be him, he wants it to be him and even though he knows it’s useless, he beats on the invisible barrier with the staff weapon anyway. The shield shimmers and energy waves crackle through it, but it remains firm._

_“Sir…sir, there's no time!”_

_She’s right, of course. It doesn’t normally bother him that she’s always right, but for once he wishes she was wrong. He tries for the control panel next, but it’s no use; the material is too strong and no amount of puny force that he can bring to bear on it will budge the panel. He starts to panic; his mind races through every possible possibility and he can’t see any way out of this one. And by the anguished look on her face, neither can she._

_“Sir….”_

_“I know! I know!” He won’t give up, he can’t give up. There has to be a way. After everything he’s already lost, he can’t lose her._

_“Sir! Just go!”_

_“NO!” His eyes lock with hers through the force shield. He’s never seen that look on her face before, love and longing and everything he’s ever wanted, and it kills him that he’s seeing it now. He’s seen too much pain and anguish in his life and he never wanted this for her. His love for her is a burning pain in his soul and he desperately wants to give her everything she wants, but he doesn’t think he can give her this._

_“Sir….”_

_He can’t leave her…he won’t leave her because he’d rather die himself than lose her._

_Jack wants to tell her, to confess everything in these final moments. Unburden his soul of the terrible, wonderful pain of loving her, wanting her until it burns so deep and hard in him that he’s sure if he ever gives in to it, they’ll both burst into flames. He can hear the unmistakable sound of approaching boots and the look on her face is still pleading with him to leave and he regrets that he’s only going to disappoint her, but he isn’t going._

_He can see the Jaffa now, over her shoulder, and she has to know they’re there, but her eyes never leave his. “I love you,” she whispers through the force shield._

_“No!” he screams, when her body jerks and her eyes close, shut to him forever. The staff weapon blasts rip through her body, arcing and rippling off the force shield as she falls at his feet._

_Jack finds himself racing through the garish corridors of the unfinished mothership; it’s more instinct than self-preservation or even any hope of reaching safe distance before the C-4 eventually explodes, or maybe he’s just running from yet another grim reminder that anyone he loves will die. He makes his way through the maze of corridors more on impulse than any remembered details of the ship, so he’s somewhat shocked when he actually reaches the long hallway that leads to the outside before the C-4 goes off._

_There’s a figure waiting at the far end, silhouetted against the bright sunlight that somehow manages to find its way into this corner of the ship. He slows down, squinting at the distant figure and at first he thinks it might be Daniel, but then he gets closer and he realizes it’s a woman. The grieving, desperate part of his brain tries to convince him that it’s Sam, even though he knows there is nothing in this—or any world—that will bring her back to him._

_The woman is blonde and tall, but those are the only similarities to Sam. She’s wearing a form-fitting gold gown more appropriate for a formal event than a construction site, her hair swept up into an elaborate hairdo. She’s beautiful, in a cold and calculating way and when he gets close enough to see her eyes, his blood runs cold. He doesn’t recognize her, though there’s something vaguely familiar about her and before he can put his finger on whatever hazy memory he thinks he has, her red lips curve in a mocking smile and her gray eyes glow._

_“You could have saved yourself all this pain, Colonel. Just tell me what I want to know, and I will make this all go away.”_

_“What do you want from me?” His vision starts to blur and his heart pounds so hard in his chest that it’s hard to breathe; he drops to his knees, gasping for breath. She steps closer, until he can see her bright red toenails peeking out of her gold slippers. He looks up, beyond caring when he sees the hand device already starting to glow in the palm of her hand. “What?”_

_“Everything, Tok’ra.”_  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s going into shock!”

McCormack already had the mask over O’Neill’s face, helping him breathe, his eyes glued to the erratic and rapid beat of O’Neill’s heart on the monitor. Charlotte’s hands clenched into such tight fists that she could feel her elaborately manicured nails digging into her palms, the frustration inside her building. She knew she was closer than she’d ever been before and yet even with O’Neill as helpless as a newborn baby, she still hadn’t broken him. But soon…very soon he would tell her everything she wanted to know.

Forcing herself to walk away, Charlotte turned her back on the medical drama playing out in the lab. “We’ll start again in twelve hours.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam hadn’t wanted to go home, but when Hammond’s suggestion came out as more of an order, she reluctantly left, driving through the early evening gloom down the mountain towards the twinkling lights of the city. All she could think about was Jack. He’d been missing for just over forty-eight hours now and even she knew that once they’d passed that golden hour, their chances of finding him had diminished dramatically. Twilight surrendered to night, the faintest sliver of a moon gleamed above the lights of the city as she drove on automatic pilot, her thoughts a million miles away from the familiar route. 

The stoplight in the distance winked amber and Sam slowed down, surrounded by the dozen or so other late evening commuters all intent on reaching home. With even more time to think, she had to forcibly remind herself that there were exceptions to the forty-eight hour rule, she had been one herself. The light changed and she wondered if the Colonel had felt the same way then as she did now—helpless, with time running out, not knowing if anyone would be able to find him. It didn’t help that the only leads they had were two dead men and their abandoned SUV. Her car rolled to a stop and she blinked, looking around in surprise when she saw she was at home. 

She sat in the car for a moment, looking at her cozy house, not sure she could go inside and fix some dinner, watch a little TV or surf the net and then go to bed just like everything was okay. She’d done it before, when he’d been with the Tok’ra, but that had been different…at least until he’d been captured by Ba’al. But she couldn’t go back to the base so she finally roused herself from her lassitude and left the car. 

The night air was cool and crisp and she shivered a bit, immediately wondering if Jack was warm wherever he was, which only led to the gut-wrenching images of him hurt…cold…or dead that wouldn’t leave her alone. Her neighborhood was quiet, something for which she was normally grateful, but in her current mood the stillness seemed oppressive. Her footsteps echoed hollowly across the wooden front porch, her mail box squeaking slightly when she opened it and pulled out a handful of what looked like junk mail. Juggling the mail and her briefcase, she managed to unlock the front door and in spite of her earlier reluctance, gratefully slipped inside. 

Sighing wearily, she tossed her briefcase and the mail on a chair in the front room, slinging her jacket carelessly on the table. She wasn’t hungry, but she knew she needed to eat, so she headed down the hallway to the kitchen. Switching on the kitchen light, she stood for a moment and just stared at the cupboards, mentally going through the contents of her cupboards and refrigerator, trying to decide if anything sounded appealing.

“Finally!” 

Sam jumped when she heard the voice coming from behind her and whirled around, automatically reaching for her sidearm, which wasn’t there.

“I didn’t think you were ever going to get home,” her uninvited guest complained mildly.

It took her a long moment to recognize him; he had a beard and looked mildly unkempt, wearing a grubby looking olive drab jacket over a frayed navy blue Academy sweatshirt and jeans, his appearance a far cry from the spit and polish Air Force colonel she remembered. “What the hell are you doing here, Maybourne?” she demanded.

“I thought you wanted to see me, Major.” Maybourne shrugged indifferently. “But if you didn’t….” He turned away from her, towards the backdoor. “I’ll just let myself out the same way I came in.”

“No, no,” she said hastily. “I did…do want to talk to you. Please,” she added, gesturing towards the living room. “Come in and sit down.”

Switching on a table lamp, she waited until Maybourne sat down on the sofa before sitting down on the edge of one of the armchairs. He looked relaxed and comfortable and even with his help in saving Teal’c a year ago, she wondered how much she could actually trust him. She decided there was only one way to find out. “Colonel O’Neill is missing.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You know?”

Maybourne shrugged. “Word gets around.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Now, Major, what makes you think I know anything about his disappearance?”

Sam felt like she was a mouse, being toyed with by a fat and slightly bored cat, which caused her reply to be sharper than she intended. “Beyond the fact that you’re a self-centered bastard who knows more than he should about everything that goes on at the SGC? In spite of being considered a traitor?”

“Major Carter, I’m shocked. Here I come to you—of my own free will, I might add—to offer my assistance and this is how you treat me?”

He was right and even though she needed whatever he had to offer, she didn’t back down. “What kind of assistance do you have to offer?” she asked, keeping just enough demand in her tone to let him know she wasn’t in the mood for his bullshit.

The smug look left Harry’s face and Sam felt her heart sink with his next words. “Not very much, I’m afraid. All of my usual sources are silent, no one knows what happened to O’Neill and it has them all running scared.”

“No one?”

“God’s truth, Major. The NID, what’s left of The Trust, even my sources in Kinsey’s office, have all come up blank. Believe me, Major, everyone wants him back as much as you do.”

She wasn’t sure about that assessment, but she let it pass. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I like to help my friends.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“No, but whatever you might think, Jack is.” Maybourne lounged back, looking way to comfortable for her. “Got a beer or anything?” She glared at him. “All right, all right.” He straightened up a little bit, his voice once more matter-of-fact. “It takes guts to kidnap a high-profile person like Jack right out from under the Air Force’s nose.” Maybourne chuckled. “I thought Frank Simmons was the only one who had those kind of balls.”

“Simmons is dead.”

“I know, Major.” Maybourne shrugged. “Like I told you, word gets around. Let’s just say I may know about someone else who has the resources—and balls—to pull off that kind of job.”

“Who?” Her heart started to beat faster and while she knew his information might be useless, she couldn’t help but feel a small thrill of hope.

“When Jack and I were ‘liberating’ Adrian Conrad from Simmons’ safe house last year, I came into…shall we say, possession…of several interesting videotapes of interviews between Simmons and Conrad.”

“Maybourne, can you just get to the point?” The man was infuriating and she was going to lose her patience.

“It seems Simmons had some suspicions regarding a certain individual he’d run across at a company that deals in a lot of top-secret government contracts.”

“What kind of suspicions?” Sam wasn’t sure how much stock to put in Maybourne’s assessment, Simmons had suspicions about everyone.

“That she’s a Goa’uld.”

“A what?” Startled, Sam stared at him; she couldn’t have heard him right.

“A Goa’uld. Simmons showed Conrad some surveillance photos he had and he confirmed her identity as a minor Goa’uld known as Athena.”

Sam considered what seemed to be the most unlikely possibility that a Goa’uld had made it to Earth and that no one knew about her. It seemed incredible…but probably not anymore incredible than at least a dozen or so of SG1’s adventures over the years. “Is that all he could tell you?”

“Well, you have to remember that Conrad’s goa’uld had been out of circulation for awhile and any information he has of this sort is out of date, because last his snake knew, Athena was one of a dozen lesser Goa’uld serving in Cronos’ court until she and another courtier decided to strike out on their own.”

“And you didn’t think this was something you should have passed along to the SGC?”

Maybourne stood up then, his expression hard. “I’m telling you now, Major. That will have to be enough.” 

“But who is she?” she persisted, hurrying after Maybourne when he left the living room and started walking down the hall toward the front door.

Maybourne paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Charlotte Mayfield, Vice President of Marketing for Farrow-Marshall.” He opened the door and then looked back at her, his face hidden in shadow. “I really do hope you find Jack.” And with that he turned and was gone.

Sam stood for a moment in the open doorway, watching Maybourne walk across her yard and disappear into the night. She should really call someone and report him, she supposed, closing the door and standing thoughtfully in her entryway. But she wouldn’t; he’d come through for them in the past and for that she owed him, at least until she found out if his information was any good. 

She looked at her watch, it was late and while everything in her screamed to immediately go and confront this Charlotte Mayfield, she knew they needed more intel and a carefully thought out plan before they confronted a suspected Goa’uld. Opening her brief case, she grabbed her cell phone and called Malcolm Barrett’s number.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack struggled out of the nightmare that gripped him. _Sam isn’t dead,_ he repeated to himself over and over; his unconscious mind was doing a number on him, hijacking one of his memories and turning it into a sadistic nightmare. He’d had dreams like this before, ones that had him waking up in a sweat, his heart pounding, but they were never as vivid, or felt as real. If he could just wake up, the nightmare would be over and he could try and go back to sleep. But the nightmare wouldn’t let him, the mocking voice and glowing eyes of the blonde Goa’uld kept pursuing him as he ran down the never-ending corridors of the mother ship, the sound of her high heels never far behind him.

He ducked into a sheltered alcove, panting and out of breath, waiting to hear the sound of footsteps go by when he was suddenly hit with a coughing spell. He couldn’t stop, the harsh sound giving away his position and he gasped for breath, jerking awake. God…he lay back, breathing hard, trying to drag in air, but every breath hurt and it just made him cough more. The coughing spasm seemed to go on forever and when it finally ended, he laid panting and gasping for breath. And when he opened his eyes and saw the drab, bleak surroundings of his prison, he knew his nightmare wasn’t over.

It took more effort than he wanted to acknowledge to focus and make an assessment of his current situation, but training and the need for self-preservation prevailed and he forced himself to relax, clearing his mind of the remnants of the nightmare. He was safe, at least for the time being. He wasn’t in the other room, the one with the bright lights and the blonde, the room where she experimented on him. She was a Goa’uld, and like every other one he’d had the misfortune to encounter over the years, she wanted something from him. Something he evidently hadn’t told her yet. What memories he did have, along with the nightmares, indicated she was fucking with his mind and Jack wondered if he’d live long enough to tell her what she wanted to know.

Physically, he felt worse than bad, something was seriously wrong with him; every breath he took hurt. He was sweaty and cold at the same time and he didn’t need a stethoscope to hear the rattling deep in his chest each time he breathed. Since he couldn’t feel any broken ribs, it could only mean one thing—pneumonia. He couldn’t remember anymore how long he’d been held captive; long enough that they should be looking for him…if they knew where to look. 

Other sensations slowly filtered into his consciousness. He could hear a low, rhythmic beep which, along with the blood pressure cuff on his arm and the other things he felt attached to him, meant someone was monitoring his condition. Moving the arm that didn’t have anything attached to it, he felt the slight pinch of an IV and let it fall back onto the bed, not sure what he had been about to do anyway. 

“You’re awake.”

Jack turned his head at the sound of the familiar voice and saw the woman who cared for him between what his brain told him could only be torture sessions. 

“Here, take these.” She held a paper cup up to his lips and he opened his mouth, feeling two tablets tumble in. She held up water next and he sucked down enough through the straw to swallow the pills.

“What was that?” he murmured, exhausted by the small effort it took to swallow the pills.

“Aspirin.” Her hand was cool against his burning forehead. “To bring down your fever.”

“What for?” he asked, finally meeting her eyes. She didn’t say anything—and he really hadn’t expected her to, the look of sad acceptance on her face telling him that while she might offer him some temporary comfort, it was only that—temporary. He laid there while she checked his blood pressure, listened to his lungs, all those things that nurses do when they check you out. Her touch was gentle and impersonal and Jack wondered how she had come to be in this place, working for a Goa’uld.

“Why do you do this?”

“What?” she asked, looping her stethoscope around her neck.

“Work for these people.”

Her expression closed and she picked up a clipboard, her eyes focused on the monitor. She jotted down whatever it was she wrote about him and he knew she wasn’t going to answer. Whatever her reasons, she was a willing accomplice, even if she wasn’t involved in his actual torture. He didn’t say anything more while she fussed over him, washing his face with a cool cloth, straightening the sheets, getting him what she called ‘comfortable’. It wasn’t until she was finished and had returned with a syringe in her hand that he asked her one last question.

“Will you do something for me?” 

She paused and eyed him warily, the syringe and IV tubing in her hands. When she didn’t immediately refuse, he continued. “Will you call someone for me, when this is all over?” He didn’t bother to elaborate by what he meant by ‘all over’; it was painfully obvious to him that he wasn’t going to survive whatever happened in that other room, he’d never felt as bad as he did now and it didn’t take a medical degree for him to know if he didn’t get treatment, he would die. 

“And tell her—” He started coughing then and she helped him to sit up, holding him steady while he coughed. It was several minutes before the spell passed and when she helped him back down, he could barely talk, his voice weak and raspy. “Tell her what happened.” Before she could turn away, Jack grabbed her wrist with what little strength he had left. “Please.”

She looked nervous and scared, and maybe he was deluding himself into thinking he saw a flicker of compassion in her eyes, but she nodded and while Jack didn’t know if she was really going to do as he asked or if she was merely agreeing to appease him, he quickly recited Sam’s phone number. He watched as she wrote on her clipboard. “Got it?” he asked, reciting the number again. 

Worn out by even that little effort, Jack closed his eyes, breathing heavily. He could sense her moving around him again and when he felt a cool sensation go up his arm when she injected the medication that familiar feeling of despair welled up in him when he realized she’d given him another sedative. “Promise me,” he murmured, his words already fuzzy and his brain going numb.

“I’ll try.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t often that Marta had to battle with her conscience; that luxury had vanished from her life about the time she’d started drinking at work to get through the day. But as she sat in the corner of the room and watched with troubled eyes while her patient slept, she was engaged in a doozy of a battle. She glanced at the clipboard on the counter with its hastily scribbled phone number like it might turn into a snake and strike at any moment. She had the means to help this man, and not at some future point in time when he was dead, but right now, while there was still a chance for him…if she could find the courage.

But she was terrified, not just of what would happen to her if anyone found out. She wasn’t worried about McCormack, the man was in this mess as deep as she was, but if Ms. Mayfield found out…. Well, Marta had no doubt she’d wind up just like the rest of her patients, gone without so much as a trace that they had ever existed. And she just didn’t have herself to worry about, but she had to think of her grandson too. He deserved a better life and was getting it, thanks to her job and the money it gave her.

Her patient, she didn’t let herself think of him by his name, moved restlessly on the narrow gurney. She got up almost reluctantly and walked over to him, resting her hand on his forehead and not surprised to feel his fever had returned. He shifted, his head moving back and forth, even sedated, his expression was pained and she wondered what demons still managed to chase him through his dreams. He had been right earlier, when he asked why she gave him the aspirin; evidently her conscience had been at work even then, when she found herself doing even that small measure to help ease his suffering.

Which brought her back to his simple request and her current battle with herself. She’d known since the first moment she’d laid eyes on him that he was different than the others and his request merely confirmed it. Someone would miss him—probably already missed him—and all she had to do was make a phone call. 

“All right guys, you heard Ms. Mayfield.”

When Marta heard Eddie’s voice out in the hallway, she hurried across the small room and quickly grabbed the top sheet of paper off her clipboard, stuffing it in her pocket.

“Hey Marta,” Eddie greeted her cheerfully. “Get the monitor on the cart, Wes.” 

Marta stayed back out of the way while the three men worked swiftly and efficiently prepared her patient for transport. 

“How’s he been?” Eddie asked, staying behind when the other two wheeled him out the door. 

She shrugged. “He has a fever and his lungs sound worse. I think he has a pneumonia.”

“Probably,” Eddie agreed. “I think this will be his last session today.” He reached into his pocket and Marta took the thick envelope he handed her; it would hold her pay so she wasn’t surprised when he added, “I’ll call you in a couple of hours, let you know whether you’ll need to come back.”

“What about him?” 

It was the first time she’d ever asked and if Eddie was surprised, he didn’t show it. His patronizing tone of voice grated on her though when he replied hurriedly, already on his way out the door. “Oh, we’ll have him transported to a hospital. Don’t you worry.” 

Marta didn’t linger after Eddie left, the image of his insincere smile and offhand manner suddenly making her decision very easy, Ms. Mayfield be damned. Grabbing her tote bag, she quickly stuffed the few personal items she had tucked away in one of the drawers in it. She couldn’t decide what to do with the few pages of nurse’s notes she’d kept on her patient, finally jamming them into her tote bag with the rest of her stuff. Reaching into her scrub jacket pocket then, she removed the sheet of paper with the phone number on it and carefully folded it up, putting it in her purse. 

Slipping her coat on next, she took one final look around the room for anything that looked out of place and satisfied that nothing was, she left the warehouse through the side entrance she always used. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, the drab grays and browns of the rundown district where the warehouse was located not looking quite so bad with the early morning sun gleaming on them. But Marta knew it was just an illusion, just like Eddie’s assurances that Jack O’Neill would leave the warehouse alive.

There was a payphone less than ten yards from her bus stop, but she ignored it and waited for her bus. She’d call that phone number from some other pay phone, some place far enough away from both her home and the warehouse to be safe. It might not amount to much, like the aspirin she had given him, but it was all she could do for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_His day starts out like ever other has, at least if you can call the spans of time he’s alive ‘days’. He doesn’t have any frame of reference; he never sees the sun or the sky, the artificial firelight of the fortress’s corridors and the light from the windows in his cell never change. The only thing that changes is him, so each time he dies, a new day starts when he awakens in the sarcophagus. His life is divided between the time he’s alive and the time he’s dead…lost in a twilight world he tries not to think about too much._

_Ba’al is slowly dissecting his memories and the more Jack tries to remember, the harder it becomes. He’s gone beyond knowing what he does or doesn’t know or remember and he wishes he could make something up that Ba’al would accept or believe. But he doesn’t even seem capable of doing that anymore. His mind is a huge blank where memories of the Tok’ra should be and Jack honestly doesn’t know whether he’s blocking the memories or if the snake took them when he left. Whatever the case, the outcome is always chillingly the same—death._

_He’s in his cell now, escorted there by the same Jaffa every ‘day’ now. He wonders if being assigned to guard him is some highly coveted honor amongst the Jaffa or if they’re unsmiling faces and steely eyes merely indicate boredom and contempt. The floor and walls are hard, but warm, as if their heated somehow or maybe it’s a side effect of whatever device Ba’al has that changes the gravity in his cell. Jack wonders briefly if he’s being bombarded with radiation or neutrinos and smiles briefly at the memory. Funny that he thinks of her…or maybe not._

_Jack hears footsteps overhead and ignores them. At first he’d look up in anticipation and dread, but Ba’al has become predictable in his timing and Jack now knows he’ll have several hours before his Jaffa escort arrives. He’s familiar with all the techniques and tricks of interrogation and has wryly decided that Ba’al must figure he doesn’t need to resort to the tried and true methods of unexpected timing and surprise sessions. The matter of fact acceptance and knowledge that he’ll be tortured until death and then brought back to life to have the whole process repeated again and again is more effective than anything ever dreamt of by a human._

_Which is why he’s unprepared when the rhythmic cadence of Jaffa marching in formation stops at his cell. He decides to be obstinate today and shifts on the hard bench build into the wall, turning his back to the Jaffa and looking fixedly at the seam where wall meets wall. But when he hears the barked command, he immediately slides onto the floor and lays down, resting his feet against the wall that will soon transform into the floor._

_He still doesn’t know any Goa’uld beyond ‘kree’ but he recognizes this command. Jack tries to summon up some curiosity or even interest in the change in routine; maybe Ba’al has a hot date or some war to fight. It doesn’t really matter though and when he feels the walls start to vibrate and the twin dials start to move, he braces himself for the stomach churning sensation._

_The gravity shifts and he feels the bottom drop out of his stomach, the hollow, queasy feeling spreading and his heart starts to pound and he’s suddenly more terrified than he’s ever been, even when he’s in a session with Ba’al and the snakehead smiles and lets the knives fly into his chest. Jack watches numbly while two of the burly Jaffa drag the limp figure of a woman just inside the entrance to his cell. They drop her to what is now the floor and while Jack wants nothing more than to rush to her side, he waits._

_Jack prays he’s wrong, but he recognizes her immediately; the way her black T-shirt clings to her slender figure, the curve of her hip encased in black BDU pants. She’s dressed for a covert operation that obviously went very wrong, her skin deathly pale and her blonde hair disheveled. He can’t tell if she’s unconscious or just pretending, he can’t see a mark on her but then not all weapons leave any evidence of their use._

_He waits until the Jaffa step away from her, crawling to her side before they can shift the cell. There isn’t time to worry about any broken bones or injuries as he grabs her under her arms and drags her down to the floor masquerading as a wall and he just manages to brace her and himself before the Jaffa in charge presses the panel and the room reverts to the customary cell._

_Jack drops to his knees, not caring if any Jaffa are watching now, though he’s dimly aware of their footsteps fading as they walk away. His hands are trembling and he rolls her to her back, his fingers pressing into her slender neck, relief filling him when he feels her pulse—weak, but steady—beneath his fingers._

_Jack does a quick field assessment, running his hands along her arms, her ribs and her legs. He doesn’t feel any obvious deformities or injuries and resting back on his heels he concludes she’s merely been rendered unconscious by a zat blast. He lets his hand rest in the middle of her chest, his palm pressed against the T-shirt and through the thin fabric he can feel the warmth of her skin, the even rise and fall or her chest and the steady beat of her heart. He’s both relieved and terrified. He knows she’ll be out for awhile, the affects of a zat always seem to affect her more severely, and he sits down on the hard floor, resting back against the wall._

_Gently moving her, Jack lifts and positions her so that her head rests in his lap. She doesn’t stir and he lets his fingers drift to the pulse point in her neck again, satisfied when he feels her heartbeat. He shifts a bit, getting as comfortable as possible on the hard floor and his fingers trail along the soft skin of her throat and begin to move idly through her hair._

_A shadow falls across them and he looks up. Ba’al stands at the precipice; a self-satisfied smile slowly appears on the System Lord’s face. Jack has grown accustomed to Ba’al’s various mocking looks and expressions, but there’s something in his current sneer that chills him to the bone. The Goa’uld doesn’t say a word, merely smiles and then turns with a flourish, his great coat swirling about his legs._

_He looks back down at Sam, his fingers gliding once more through her hair. God, what is she doing here? He can hardly bear to acknowledge the most likely reason is to rescue him…was to rescue him. Whatever they’d planned had obviously gone very wrong and hard on that realization, he wonders where Teal’c and Jonas are. He stops thinking then, no worse case scenario can be any worse than what is happening to him now. Not only is he a prisoner of an utterly ruthless and merciless System Lord; but that same snakehead has somehow captured the only other living person in the entire universe who means anything to him—and is also his greatest weakness._

_She isn’t out for too much longer. Cradled as she is in his lap, Jack feels when she starts to wake up, the sudden tension in her muscles, the way her breathing changes. His hand falls away from her hair when she stirs. She struggles to sit up and he helps her. Her hand rests on his thigh as she pushes herself into a sitting position and she looks at him, her blue eyes confused._

_“Sir?” Her voice is a whisper and she runs a hand through her hair—and it’s trembling._

_“Yeah, Carter. Welcome to my little corner of paradise.” He says it lightly, but when she looks at him, he sees the awareness fill her eyes._

_“What happened?” she murmurs. He follows as she looks around the sparse cell, her eyes traveling over the walls, her head tipping back when she looks up to the entrance, high over their heads now, before she looks back at him._

_“I don’t know, Carter,” he replies evenly. “You tell me.”_

_She looks puzzled and her hand drifts off his leg when she sits down next to him, shoulder to shoulder. An old memory washes through him…the heat and steam from the boilers, the smell of men and women working endless hours in the cavernous boiler rooms and the sweet pressure of her head against his shoulder._

_Her voice is soft when she eventually starts to speak, as if she’s unsure of her words. “We received intel about your location. Hammond couldn’t authorize a full rescue mission, too dangerous.” She tilts her head slightly and he can see her eyes, her bangs drift low over her forehead and he has to forcibly stop himself from brushing them back.._

_“What happened?’ he asks gently._

_Sam plucks at a loose thread on her BDU’s in a totally un-Carter like fashion. “Teal’c and I came, along with Frey and Morehouse.”_

_Jack recognizes the names—two marines from SG-3 and damn good soldiers. He doesn’t ask about Jonas._

_“We made it through the gate without any problems.” She laughs, the abrupt sound harsh and disquieting. “I guess we should have known something was up then.” Her head falls back against the wall. “Frey and Morehouse stayed behind to secure the gate. Teal’c and I made our way to the fortress.”_

_“You made it.”_

_“Yeah.” She looks down again and Jack can see her concentrating on the memory. “Part of the intel included plans to get into the fortress. Our point of entry was supposed to be through the kitchens, where the guards are minimal.”_

_“Let me guess,” Jack says. “They were well-guarded.”_

_“It’s like they knew were coming.”_

_He hears the confusion and question in her voice. “Maybe they did, Major.”_

_Her blue eyes are stricken and she looks away. “I….” She frowns and shakes her head. “Our information came from the Tok’ra, sir. I just can’t believe they’d betray us.”_

_Jack doesn’t say anything or point out the painful truth—that they’re in this mess because of one Tok’ra who betrayed the most sacred tenet of the sect. Since he can’t say that, he asks instead, “What happened to Teal’c?”_

_“I don’t know.” She sighs and falters for a moment. “I saw him go down. I don’t know if he’s dead….” Her voice trails off and Jack finds he can’t reassure her, because he knows there’s no reason to keep Teal’c alive when Ba’al has her in his possession. Frey and Morehouse are probably dead too, but he doesn’t see any reason to point that out either._

_“Well, Carter,” he says, making a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Welcome to Chez Ba’al.”_

_A fleeting smile momentarily transforms her face and Jack savors the brief instant. When she smiles he can almost forget the horror and pain that waits for him. “The room service sucks—”_

_Whatever else he hopes to say is interrupted by the return of the Jaffa. He hears them and his internal clock recognizes the time. “Lay down,” he says, hurriedly sliding down from his sitting position. She’s slower to react and Jack grabs her arm, pulling her down next to him._

_Jack looks up and she does too, four Jaffa stand at the opening of the cell. “Get ready,” he instructs, putting his arm around her to brace her for the gravity shift. He must be getting used to it, because he barely feels the change this time, but she sags against him and he hears her gasp and she starts to breathe too shallowly._

_“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It gets better.”_

_He wants to reassure her, but two of the Jaffa are already advancing on them and he takes a step forward, his arm falling from around her. The Jaffa closest to him snarls something and shoves him aside. Unprepared for the attack, Jack falls back against one of the benches, barely catching himself. The other Jaffa roughly grabs Sam by the arm and starts to haul her along behind him, out of the cell._

_She struggles, her eyes wide and frightened. “Colonel!” she calls, terror in her voice._

_Jack tries to break past the Jaffa in front of him, but the bigger and stronger man holds him back, only releasing him once Sam is out of the cell. The Jaffa growls a warning, punching him hard in the stomach. Jack groans, tears filling his eyes and doubling over from the brutal blow, he barely recovers before he hears the mechanism that controls the room start to move. He’s off balance and when the gravity shifts, he falls to the floor with a thud._

_From the new floor, Jack looks up and sees Sam poised at the brink to the cell, two Jaffa holding her securely in place. “Sir!” Her voice is pleading and then they are taking her away._

_“Wait!” Jack finally manages to shout, but it only comes out as a hoarse whisper. “You’re supposed to take me!”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marta took a swallow of her coffee and frowned. Putting the newspaper down, she got up from the kitchen table and poured the lukewarm liquid down the sink. She glanced out the window to the parking lot and identical back doors and kitchen windows of the busy apartment complex. The last of the kids had boarded the bus, carted off to school, the sounds of people talking and televisions blaring sounded faintly through the walls; the complex was quiet as it ever got during the day. She was tired and wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and forget everything about her last patient, and if she was lucky, she wouldn’t have any dreams. But it wasn’t that simple.

The piece of paper with the hastily scribbled phone number on it lay on the counter. She’d already decided where to go to make the phone call, there was a payphone at the convenience store a few blocks away, not too close and not too far. It would only take a few minutes, no one would ever know and maybe she wouldn’t see the nameless faces of all her former patients parading through her dreams. Before her resolve could waver, Marta put her coat back on, and grabbing the coin purse that held her quarters for the laundry, she went to do one last thing for her patient.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Jack paces the cell. Five steps until his knees hit the bench, five steps back. He can add an extra step or two if he makes a loop instead of straight back and forth. And sometimes he does. And sometimes he simply stands, gazing at the frosted glass of the window and tries not to think about what’s happening to her. Ba’al is nothing if inventive; practicing his craft with the loving care of an artist. He takes pride in his work and with death no longer a hindrance, he can take his art to its extreme—time and time again._

_She’s strong and she’s tough, but he knows she’s never been tortured like this. It’s almost more than he can bear to think of her soft flesh punctured with knives or worse yet, Ba’al’s hands on her…leaving bruises on her pale skin…or worse. He shuts his mind down at the ‘or worse’ and when the pain in his knuckles from his fist repeatedly hitting the wall finally penetrates through his dark thoughts, he starts pacing again._

_It should be him, it should be him; the mantra keeps running in circles through his brain with each step he takes, just like the endless path he’s wearing in the hard floor of the cell. Whenever he hears footsteps overhead, his steps slow and he can’t help but look up, but no one ever stops, the Jaffa who patrol this area of the fortress walk by without slowing down. It could be minutes or it could be hours, he doesn’t know anymore, much like he doesn’t know daytime from nighttime, when he finally hears footsteps that slow down as they approach his cell._

_Its déjà vu; two Jaffa dragging her limp form between them, her head drooping and her feet dragging on the ground. He shuts down, his expression blank and he lays down on the floor, preparing for the change in gravity. The room shifts and he waits, his eyes never leaving her as the Jaffa drag her just over the sill before they let her fall to the floor. He doesn’t dare move until they’re out in the corridor and then he’s rushing to her side, pulling her as gently as he can to where the wall meets the floor and he holds her, bracing them both._

_The relief he feels that she’s breathing is tempered by how cold her skin her feels. When the cell shifts, he carefully lowers her to the floor and she moans softly. Her T-shirt is damp with what he thinks is sweat, but his hands are stained with blood and with his heart beating in his throat, Jack begins a cursory assessment. His hands tremble when he lightly runs them down her arms and then her legs; she’s barefoot now, her boots and socks gone._

_He gently feels along her ribs, a heartsick rage filling him when he realizes her bra is missing. The blood stained T-shirt bears the evidence of what happened to her and Jack gently pulls it up, revealing the smooth and unmarred skin of her stomach. He carefully rolls her to her side then and she moans again, but she doesn’t resist. This time when he cautiously raises the black cloth, he finds the source of the blood._

_“He used a whip.” Her pain-filled voice is a hoarse whisper. “One of those with lots of ends. What do they call it?”_

_“Cat-o’-nine-tails.” Her back is raw and bleeding, the deep lashes from the tails of the whip criss-crossing her back._

_She groans softly, bringing her knees up and curling into herself. “Felt more like ninety-nine tails.”_

_There’s nothing he can do. He has no water, bandages or ointment, or anything to protect her wounds, so he slowly lowers the T-shirt until she’s once more covered. She hisses slightly when the cloth moves over the ragged flesh and that helpless feeling that makes him want to beat his fists into the wall until they bleed comes over him again. He can’t protect her, he can’t keep her safe, he can’t do anything for her because his mind refuses to divulge the secrets of the Tok’ra._

_He slumps back against the wall and barely notices when she inches closer to him, resting her head on his thigh. He can’t help himself and his hand automatically begins stroking her hair. Her eyes are closed, dark smudges of fatigue and pain bruising the skin under her eyes. She seems to relax and he wants to pretend they’re anywhere but here, but he can’t…he needs to know._

_“What did he do to you?” He feels the shuddering breath she takes and wishes he could be he could be cold and matter-of-fact, like a good commanding officer. But with her bruised and beaten, lying with her head in his lap, he can’t._

_“He used that whip on me.”_

_“Is that all?” He has to know._

_“Just the whip….” She whispers, her voice fading._

_“What did he want?”_

_Sam turns her head and looks up at him, her eyes dull and pain-filled. “He said to ask you.”_

_Jack doesn’t know how to answer her; his mind is so much swiss cheese when it comes to the information Ba’al says he wants. He has no concrete memories of his time with the Tok’ra, just vague, blurry images without any context or frame of reference. “Try and get some rest,” he finally murmurs._

_She doesn’t question his non-answer, her shadowed eyes offering him an understanding he isn’t certain he deserves. He watches as her eyes drift shut and her breathing becomes shallow and even and he prays she can sleep. He’s barely half-way through a prayer he thought long forgotten when he hears the sound of solitary footsteps pause at his cell. Almost against his will, he looks up, into the amused eyes of his captor. Jack lets his expression harden and then he looks away, back down at the sleeping woman, but not before he sees the triumph in Ba’al’s eyes._

_Jack shuts his mind down, the memories are too fresh…too raw…._

_He must sleep too, because the next thing he knows, one of the guards is yelling at him. He’s slow to respond, so both he and Sam slide in a tangle to the wall that is now a floor once the gravity shifts. She cries out in pain and he’s almost frantic, shoving her behind him in an effort to protect her._

_“It’s my turn this time,” he says, putting as much authority into his voice as he can. But it doesn’t matter, the Jaffa are singled-minded in their task and he’s knocked aside. He falls to his knees, the two Jaffa dragging Sam out._

_“Jack! Jack!” Her voice is filled with terror and she struggles uselessly in the guard’s grip._

_When the gravity shifts, Jack falls to the floor, his face pressed against the hard surface. He closes his eyes and doesn’t move, he doesn’t need to see to know what’s happening as they drag her away. Just knowing she is with Ba’al is worse than any physical torture he’s ever received and part of him is impressed with his captor’s tactics. It’s what he would do, go for his enemy’s soft underbelly, target the most vulnerable spot he can find._

_Ruthlessly and without pity…just like Ba’al._

_Somehow he finds the strength to drag himself to the closest corner of his cell and wrapping his arms around his drawn-up knees, he huddles against the cold wall and waits._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack moves restlessly, his movements hampered by something he can’t remember…he’s tied down or strapped down. He struggles against his bonds and the dream holding him captive. He’s sure it’s a dream, because he doesn’t think he could bear it if it was all real. If he can just wake up, everything will be okay. Sam will be laughing and smiling at some lame joke he’s just told; Jonas will look confused at their interaction and Teal’c will merely raise an eyebrow in Jaffa disdain. Life will be normal; he’ll just be a captive of rules and regulations and not of Ba’al. 

_“You fool! He’s waking up!”_

The woman’s voice sends a chill through him. He knows her and yet he doesn’t; but one thing is clear even in his dream state. He has to escape from her. Jack renews his fight against the bonds holding him and the even more secure ties keeping him deep in the recesses of his nightmarish dream world, but strong hands hold him down and he rails against the conversation he hears whirling around him.

_“Give him more of the Blood of Sokar.”_

_“But we’ve already exceeded the maximum safe dose!”_

“Do as you are told.” The woman’s voice takes on an eerie tone that reminds him of something—or someone—he’s trying desperately to forget. _“Or do you wish to know my wrath?”_

_“Yes, ma’am.”_

The man’s meek reply sends a fresh rush of terror through Jack and he struggles frantically, trying to break free. But he can’t; the hands holding him down increase their pressure and he continues to thrash helplessly in their grip until a despair deeper than any he’s ever felt before courses through him when he feels the cold rush of medication through the blood vessels in his arm. He’s tries to wake up, to open his eyes, to cry out, but it’s hopeless and as the swirling cold spreads through him he is forced to surrender to its icy embrace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Jack wakes up. His body aches, his brain is fuzzy and his movements sluggish. He groans and tries to roll onto his side; his muscles are weak and his joints are stiff. He slowly realizes that he’s not in the sarcophagus, he’s on the floor of the cell. And then he realizes he’s not alone._

_God, when did they bring her back? How could he have slept through her return? He lurches to his knees, crawling over to where she lays crumpled in a corner of the cell. He can’t seem to stop his hands from trembling, god, his whole body is shaking. She’s on her side and to the casual observer, she just looks like she’s sleeping, dreaming maybe…of a place far from here. He’ll take her to the cabin after this is all over. He won’t take no for an answer. The sun and fresh air, the soothing sounds of the lake and the forest will do her good…will do them both good._

_The sound of footsteps overhead jerks him out of his fantasy. God, he scrubs his hand over his face, grinding his fists into his eyes, he has to get a grip. He has to keep it together so he can help her. She’s so still, her skin so pale it’s almost translucent, except for the dark circles blooming under her eyes and the trickle of blood along her cheek. He pauses on his knees next to her and hesitates, his hand hovering over her neck. As long as he doesn’t touch her, he thinks somewhat wildly, she’ll still be alive and they can start planning that trip to Minnesota._

_His vision blurs and he rubs his eyes again; she’s still there, Minnesota is just some foolish dream and he has to know. His fingers brush against her hair and then he’s pressing into the soft skin of her neck and he feels the panic start when he doesn’t feel anything but then he presses harder and finally feels the faint flutter. He closes his eyes, his head drops to his chest on a huge sigh and needing the additional confirmation, his hand drifts down across her chest until he can feel the slight rise and fall as she breathes._

_Jack becomes all business then and runs his hands along her body, her T-shirt is stiff and rough over her back, where the blood has dried. He doesn’t want to hurt her, but there isn’t anyway around it and as gently as he can, he rolls her onto her back. She moans with the movement, the sound almost inaudible, but she doesn’t open her eyes or otherwise move, so he finishes his assessment. He doesn’t find any new injuries, at least any that are visible. He brushes back her hair and finds that the trail of blood on her face came from her ear and that discovery manages to destroy his relief._

_He needs her to wake up, to talk to her, so he can see if she’s hurt or damaged. “Sam, Sam.” He lightly pats her cheek, trying to coax a response from her. Her skin is so cold and he isn’t sure what he’ll do if she doesn’t wake up. He tries again. “Sam, Sam, come on, wake up!” It isn’t an order, it’s a plea and he smoothes her hair back off her forehead, willing her to wake up._

_Her lashes start to flutter and she moans again, one of her hands moving towards him. He takes hold of it, gripping tightly. “That’s it, come on, Sam. Open your eyes.”_

_He can see the effort it takes her, but her eyes finally open and she blinks against the light of the cell. She looks almost confused, disoriented, until she sees him. Jack tries to smile, to give her some encouragement and he must be somewhat successful because she seems to relax when she sees him. But then her eyes start to close._

_Jack pats her cheek again. “Stay with me here, Major. I need you to open your eyes.”_

_She obeys and this time she focuses on him. “Sir,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. “Where are we?”_

_He wants to lie to her, to tell her that they’re anywhere than where they are, but he can’t, she deserves to know. “We’re being held captive by Ba’al. Don’t you remember?” Her forehead wrinkles in a frown and he sees the moment when she remembers, fear and horror filling her eyes. “It’s okay,” he hurriedly reassures her. “You’re safe.”_

_It’s a blatant lie but she nods, for which Jack is grateful. He sits down on the floor next to her and carefully helps her roll onto her side, resting her head back in his lap. Her movements are slow and deliberate, like that of an old woman, and he wonders what Ba’al did to her. Without any conscious thought he’s stroking her hair again and he asks, “Do you remember what he did to you?”_

_Her voice is weak and quivers when she finally answers. “I don’t remember all of it. There was a pain stick.”_

_Jack remembers what those feel like, the burning pain and agony as the energy weapon blasts through your head. He murmurs something, his fingers moving delicately along her cheek now._

_“And then….” She shivers violently, her hand suddenly fumbling for his, her skin cool and clammy as she clings to him. “He used a Hara’kash,” she whispers, not able to hide the horror in her voice._

_“A what?” he asks. It sounds familiar but he can’t quite place it…._

_“The thing the Ashrak used on Jolinar.” She doesn’t let go of his hand. “It was horrible. I felt like my brain was bleeding out my ears.”_

_Jack remembers then, the small ring-like device that can either be used for an execution or for torture, like Sokar used on Apophis. He doesn’t tell her about the blood from her ear._

_“He wouldn’t stop.” Her voice is a thread-like whisper now. “No matter how much I begged or pleaded, he just kept using it and laughing.”_

_“God, Sam,” he murmurs, “I’m so sorry.”_

_Jack feels her shift slightly and she’s looking up at him, her blue eyes cloudy and dull, and he’s sure he can see all the horrors of her torture in their depths. “What does he want?”_

_He feels like one of the Jaffa has just punched him in the gut, the wind knocked out of him and he doesn’t know what to tell her, so he tells her as much of the truth as he can. “I don’t know,” he whispers._

_It’s just another knife in his heart when he sees the sad acceptance in her eyes before they close and his hand trembles as he starts to stroke her hair. His voice is rough when he softly starts to speak, “What I do know is that when we get out of here, I’m taking you fishing. Have I ever told you how beautiful Minnesota is in the summertime?”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam restlessly paced the length of the briefing room, her eyes flicking occasionally to the Stargate, standing majestic and silent, below them in the Gate Room. It was ironic that after all their travels and enemies they’d made traveling the universe, their biggest threat was right here at home. Teal’c sat quietly at the briefing table, the only outward sign of concern his even more solemn demeanor. Even the normally cheerful Jonas was subdued, sitting quietly and concentrating on the laptop screen in front of him. Every now and then he’d stop and scribble down something on the yellow legal pad next to him, busy gathering whatever data he could glean on Farrow-Marshall and Charlotte Mayfield.

It had been over ten hours since she’d called Malcolm Barrett and she chafed at their inactivity. She had been sorely tempted to ignore Hammond’s orders to wait until they had more information and had only been convinced by Teal’c’s calm and cool intervention to wait. She hadn’t been able to ignore his counsel and he was right, of course. If a company that held numerous sensitive and expensive government contracts was involved in the kidnapping of an Air Force colonel, they would need the support and cooperation that only Hammond would be able to provide them. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. She glanced towards Hammond’s office, where the general was visible, talking on the red phone. 

“I wonder who he’s talking to?”

Jonas looked up from the laptop and glanced towards Hammond’s office before looking at her. “Hopefully somebody high up in the chain of command.” 

Sam looked at him expectantly. 

“What I mean, from everything I’ve been able to find out about Farrow-Marshall, they are involved in more top secret defense contracts than any other company around. Not to mention all of their other high profile and confidential clients. Almost every major bio-engineering and genetic research company has some kind of connection with them, including Zedatron Industries and Immutech Research.”

“Of course they do.” Sam supposed she should have been surprised by Jonas’ information, but she wasn’t. “So it’s possible that this Goa’uld is one of the clones from Adrian Conrad’s symbiote?” If it were, that would certainly make more sense than the other alternative, that a Goa’uld had been hiding—and living, quite successfully, if Maybourne was right—on Earth.

“It would seem unlikely,” Teal’c commented. “Adrian Conrad would have no reason to lie to Colonel Simmons. It is more likely that she sought refuge here on Earth.”

“Did you ever meet Athena, Teal’c?”

“I did not. During my years of service to him, Apophis was continually at war with Cronos.” 

“What exactly would a ‘courtier’ do?” Jonas asked.

“Cronos prided himself on his court, displaying his power by the number of lesser Goa’uld who were in service to him.” Teal’c shrugged imperceptibly. “Their individual duties would vary, but I believe Cronos would have kept within the traditions of the god he impersonated.”

“Then an advisor of some sort?” Jonas asked. “I mean, if she’s called Athena, she was the Greek goddess of wisdom.”

Teal’c inclined his head in agreement. 

“But that still doesn’t explain what she’s doing on Earth and why she would do something so risky, like kidnap the Colonel.”

“All Goa’uld thirst for power,” Teal’c commented.

“And it’s not like this is the first time this has happened.”

“What do you mean, Jonas?”

“Well, look at Ba’al. While I will admit the Colonel wasn’t kidnapped by Ba’al, he was held captive and tortured by him in hopes of obtaining the knowledge of his symbiote.”

Sam pulled out a chair and sat down, her thoughts racing at the implications of Jonas’ comment. How could she have been so dense? It was all starting to make sense. “You might have something, Jonas,” she said, still thinking. “The Colonel’s arrest has been all over the news….”

“Then she could have seen the news and decided to take advantage of the situation?”

“Possibly….” Sam shook her head. “It just seems kind of far-fetched. I mean, first of all, how does she know what happened with Ba’al and second, if she’s been successful in keeping herself hidden, then why risk discovery?”

“Because she believes whatever information O’Neill retains from his blending is worth the risk.”

“But he doesn’t remember anything!” 

Teal’c looked at her, his dark eyes solemn. “That would not matter. As a Goa’uld, her arrogance would dictate that she would succeed where others have failed.”

Sam wasn’t convinced, none of it seemed too plausible. But right now, she was willing to grasp at straws, no matter how flimsy they seemed. “I don’t know, guys. Still…whether she has anything to do with the Colonel’s disappearance or not, if she is a Goa’uld, we need to find her.” 

“So what do you—”

Her cell phone rang then, cutting off whatever Jonas was going to say. Sam gave him an apologetic look, quickly slipping the phone out of her jacket pocket. “Maybe it’s Agent Barrett.” 

She flipped the phone open and frowned, the number displayed wasn’t one she recognized and if it hadn’t been for the vaguely familiar area code, she would have ignored it. Glancing at Jonas and Teal’c, she shook her head at their enquiring looks and answered the call. “Sam Carter.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_The next time the Jaffa turn off the gravity in his cell, they take him. Sam winces, hands clutching at him, when he abruptly wraps his arms around her and shifts into the position. She doesn’t make a sound when he eases her off his lap, though her hands cling weakly to him; he goes willingly, but it tears him up to leave her. He looks back over his shoulder when they reach the threshold and he’s relieved to see she’s positioned herself so that when the gravity shifts back, she’ll be once more sitting on the floor. She looks right at him, desperation on her face and in her eyes._

_“Jack!”_

_“Don’t worry,” he calls to her before the Jaffa roughly jerks him down the corridor that leads to Ba’al’s torture chamber. “I’ll be back.” It’s all the reassurance he can offer._

_Jack’s almost dizzy with relief that it’s him this time and not Sam. It doesn’t matter what Ba’al does to him, as long as Sam is safe—with ‘safe’ being a relative term. Feeling more confident than he has in days, Jack shrugs off the hands of the Jaffa escorting him and walks with his head held high into the chamber. The room is empty and he’s disappointed Ba’al isn’t there. One of the guards gives him a less than gentle shove and knowing the drill, Jack positions himself with his back against the gravity wall. He smirks at the guard, who flips the switch before the sudden pull of the G-force makes him feel like he’s going to pass out, but the dizziness and stars dancing before his eyes gradually fade and he waits._

_Jack tries drumming his fingers against the grating, but he can’t, either the gravity well is stronger or he’s weaker. He’s probably weaker, he can’t remember the last time he had anything to eat or drink and wonders why he doesn’t feel hungry; probably all the sarcophagus time. He kills time by planning his first meal when he’s back on Earth. Steak, definitely; along with a baked potato with all the fixings and of course, beer. Menu planning only works as a distraction for a limited time. He’s not used to being kept waiting and he finds the irony amusing; enough so that he laughs._

_“You find this amusing?” Ba’al appears from the back of the chamber, through what Jack knows is a hidden door._

_“Why, yes I do.” His father always said one day he’d pay for his smart mouth, but even in the face of certain torture, Jack can’t stop. It’s the only defense he has left._

_“Then perhaps you will find this equally amusing.” Ba’al saunters to the far wall and tugs on the bell pull._

_Moments after the silent summons, panic once more seizes him. He can hear her long before the Jaffa drag her into the chamber, pleading and crying for him. The two hulking Jaffa drop her on the floor in front of Ba’al and step back, waiting in the shadows. Jack starts to struggle uselessly against the gravity well. “Damn you,” he shouts. “It’s me you want, not her!”_

_He watches in helpless terror when she slowly struggles to a sitting position, Ba’al walking leisurely in a circle around her. Jack’s eyes remained glued to her as she starts to crawl towards him, instinctively seeking what she sees as the one safe place in the torture chamber. “Sam,” he calls to her huskily. “It’ll be okay.”_

_Ba’al chuckles, his dark face alight with amusement. He stops in front of Sam then, blocking her way and Jack’s view. The Goa’uld bends down and Jack resumes his futile struggle to break free of the gravity well. “Keep your hands off her, you bastard!”_

_“Shall we see just how ‘okay’ you are going to be, my dear?”_

_Ba’al steps back and with an overly dramatic flourish of his long coat, he raises his hand and gestures to the waiting Jaffa, who spring into action. The two men immediately flank Sam and roughly lift her to her feet. She sways, supported only by the guards, her face pale and her bruised eyes pleading with him. The utterly helpless feeling returns with a vengeance. At first, Jack doesn’t know what Ba’al intends, it isn’t until the Jaffa force her to the edge of the gravity well and release her with a slight shove that he understands._

_Jack barely has time to prepare himself for the impact of her body against his when the G-forces slam her against him. He grunts at the blow, feeling the wind knocked out of him, and she cries out at the unexpected pressure, her soft body now pressed intimately against his in a cruel parody of a lover’s intimate embrace. Her face is pressed against his shoulder, he can feel the soft wash of her breath against his throat with each and every too rapid breath she takes._

_In any other time and or place, Jack would savor the feel of her soft breasts against his chest, the perfect way her pelvis presses into him, the way her body fits so seamlessly against his. It’s a heady feeling and he’s momentarily overwhelmed by his body’s immediate response to her; a response that is quickly tempered by the amused voice of their captor._

_“Now, just where did we leave off?”_

_Sam whimpers and seems to sink even further into him; he’s not sure how she does it, but somehow she manages to move her arms until their hands meet and Jack finds the strength to thread his fingers with hers._

_“Ah yes, the Hara’kash.”_

_When Ba’al lifts the small device off the stand next to his throne, Jack knows it’s totally for his benefit. Sam’s breath catches with a quiet sob at the implied threat, her fingers tightening around his._

_Ba’al seems to admire the device, tilting it until the flickering fire light catches the gems set in it. He sets the device down with a melodramatic sigh. “Perhaps not. While a very effective method of torture, I think this situation calls for something more…primitive.”_

_Jack follows Ba’al’s moves when he stands and saunters to the far wall of the chamber, where he stops and stands, gazing at the various implements of torture hanging on the wall. “So many choices.” He reaches up and lifts down a metal implement resembling nothing more deadly than a back scratcher, until Jack sees the sharp metal claws._

_“Perhaps this?” Ba’al holds it up towards him, as if asking for his opinion._

_“You sick bastard,” Jack growls._

_Ba’al chuckles again. “Perhaps you’re right.” He places the device back up on the wall and once more adopts a casual pose while he surveys the contents of the wall. He finally reaches up and takes down something Jack recognizes right away._

_“I am quite partial to this.” Ba’al lets the leather strands of the cat-o-nine-tails trail through his fingers before he looks directly at Jack. “And it was quite effective last time.”_

_“What is it?” Sam whispers, her voice shaking._

_“Cat-o-nine-tails,” Jack murmurs. He feels every muscle in the body pressed so tightly against him tense, her nails digging into the back of his hand._

_“But then again….” Ba’al smirks, placing the whip back on the wall. “This situation calls for somewhat of a less personal touch.” With his customary flourish, Ba’al returns to the dais and moving the Hara’kash aside, opens a wooden case resting on the table. He lifts out a flask that Jack remembers all too well._

_Her lips brush against his throat when she speaks, her trembling voice full of fear.  
“What is—” _

_There isn’t time to warn her; she flinches, her breath hissing in sharply and she cries out in anguish when the acid burns through the T-shirt and her previously torn and bruised flesh, eating into her skin and deeper. Jack knows exactly what she’s feeling, the burning pain that never stops, the acid dissolving skin…muscle…bone until it reaches the vital organs, where it eats away at the lungs…the heart._

_“Bastard! This isn’t about her, this is about me! I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt her!”_

_Ba’al sets another drop of acid free, the liquid flowing unerringly to its mark, the droplet hitting her right shoulder blade. The pungent smell of the acid mixes with the smell of burning flesh; she flinches but doesn’t cry out this time and he feels her tears hot against his skin._

_“Of course this isn’t about her,” Ba’al agrees. “This is about you and your refusal to tell me that which I want to know.”_

_“How can I tell you something I don’t know?” Jack cries out in desperation. “I don’t remember anything!”_

_“Perhaps you just haven’t had the proper motivation.” Ba’al once more tips the vial, this time letting a stream of the acid free, the liquid raining gracefully through the gravity field until it’s stopped by Sam’s tender flesh._

_“Jack.” She gasps his name, her hands tightening even more around his until he’s sure she’s going to break bone. But he doesn’t care, the pain keeps him alert and he knows from experience, it’s nothing compared to the agony eating through her._

_“Just stop hurting her and I’ll tell you everything.”_

_Ba’al places the stopper in the flask and carefully places it back in the wooden box. “By all means, tell me ‘everything’.”_

_“Please…use the antidote.” He’s begging, but he doesn’t care. He’ll do anything to stop this, to save Sam…even make up lies about the Tok’ra in hope of satisfying his captor._

_Ba’al lifts the second flask out of the case and holds it up, the amber glass gleaming dully in the dim light. Jack feels a flash of hope that immediately fades when Ba’al sets the flask back down. “Perhaps I should hear what you have to say first. I would hate to think that you might try to deceive me.”_

_“Jack, tell him…please.”_

_Jack hears the pain and despair in her weakening voice; her tight grip on his hands loosening. Her breathing is shallow and ragged; he can feel her fading away and he strengthens his grip, clinging to her desperately. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, even with Sam dying in his arms, he can’t dredge up the memories—or the words—to end her suffering._

_Ba’al sighs and sets the flask with the antidote down and picks up the flask containing the acid. “I thought as much.”_

_“I’m sorry, Sam, I’m sorry, I’m sorry….” Jack’s voice breaks and Sam screams when the entire contents of the flask rain down on her back. Sam’s cries echo through the chamber and Jack can barely see through the tears that fill his eyes at the sound of her agony._

_It’s only when he feels the sticky wetness of blood against his chest that he realizes the acid has eaten all the way through her and is now burning into him. Jack’s anguished screams replace hers and above it all is the sound of Ba’al’s laughter._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The flight from Peterson to Andrews had seemed interminable, even with Hammond pulling strings and getting them there in record time in a small and very fast jet, the two hour time change making it even longer. For Sam, it had merely been two more hours to worry about the Colonel. If it hadn’t been for Fraiser’s watchful presence, Sam probably would have worn a path in the aisle carpet. But as it was, she had to sit patiently and wait, knowing every minute it took for them to get to Jack was one more minute where he could die. 

Or was already dead…but she refused to even consider that thought.

Even after what had happened to her at the hands of Adrian Conrad and his ‘doctors’, it still seemed all kinds of insanity that a Goa’uld—even one living undetected on Earth—had kidnapped Jack and was experimenting on him. More likely torturing, she thought darkly, remembering all too well the sanitized version they’d been given regarding the other time he’d been kidnapped by a Goa’uld. She was thankful Hammond had decided to send Fraiser and two of her medics with them, god only knew in what condition they’d find Jack and if this Charlotte Mayfield really was a Goa’uld…better to have Fraiser there. 

Sam could still hear every word of the unexpected early morning phone call, running in an endless loop in her brain.

_“Sam Carter.”_

_There had been such a long pause on the other end, she almost hung up. But then she heard the soft rustle of movement and finally, a hesitant female voice._

_“I have a message for you.”_

_“Who is this?” Sam asked sharply, earning curious looks from Jonas and Teal’c._

_“I can’t tell you. Please…he asked me to call you.”_

_Sam could barely breathe, her heart racing. Was it possible this call was about Jack? By the sound of her voice, the woman was obviously scared. “It’s okay,” Sam said, fighting to keep her voice calm and reassuring. “Who asked you to call me?”_

_“He says his name is Jack O’Neill. He gave me this number and asked me to call when it was all over.”_

_What relief she had felt that he was still alive vanished immediately. “When what is all over?”_

_“The research.”_

_Sam reached out with an unsteady hand for the back of the nearest chair, feeling weak in the knees. She knew ‘research’ was really a misnomer for something much worse and it was almost more than she could do, but she managed to ask, “Is it…all over?”_

_“I don’t know,” the woman said, her voice quivering slightly. “Maybe. He’s in bad shape…it’s why I called. I don’t think he’s going to make it through the next session.”_

_“Session of what?”_

_“I don’t know…I only get them between.”_

_Sam let that pass, she obviously wasn’t going to get the woman to deviate from whatever course she had decided on before she’d called. “Where is he?”_

_“Can you help him?”_

_“Yes, yes I can,” she hurriedly reassured the mystery caller. “But only if you tell me where he is.”_

_“In Baltimore, in a warehouse down in Curtis Bay, just off of Locust.”_

_“Tell me exactly.” Sam reached across the table and grabbed the pencil out of Jonas’ hand, scribbling down the address the woman gave her on his legal pad. “Thank you.”_

_“I’ve got to go.”_

_“Wait! Please, tell me who you are.”_

_“I can’t. If she finds out….”_

_“If who finds out?”_

_Sam never found out; the phone went dead with a loud click._

_“Major Carter?”_

_“Sam, what is it?”_

_Sam silently pocketed her phone and looked at her two team mates, grim satisfaction in her voice when she said, “I know where Colonel O’Neill is.”_

Hammond hadn’t wasted any time and in less than an hour they were in the air, headed for Baltimore via DC. Malcolm Barrett had been alerted to the location and was preparing everything for their arrival. Sam prayed they would be in time; the woman’s fear had been palpable through the phone line, yet somehow she found the strength and determination to overcome her fear and call. And whether they found Jack alive or dead, Sam would always be grateful to her for that.

Their convoy of black SUV’s rolled to a stop at the far end of the cordoned off parking lot. Sam barely waited for their vehicle to stop moving before she jumped out and jogged to the waiting panel truck; Teal’c and Jonas right behind her. The sun shone weakly through the scattered clouds, the smell of the water and cries of gulls overhead the only indication they were close to the water. This particular corner of the warehouse district seemed almost too quiet, but that perhaps had more to do with the barricades located a discreet distance away, keeping the area as clear of people as possible.

Reaching the truck, Sam jerked the door open and squeezed down the narrow space in the surveillance van to where Malcolm Barrett sat at the main console; Teal’c and Jonas crowding in with her. The command center was a scene of calm and controlled professionalism; the banks of surveillance equipment impressive and Sam started to feel some of the tension eating away at her insides ease fractionally. Barrett looked up at their entry and slipped off his headset. 

Sam didn’t bother with a greeting, Jack’s life hung in the balance and every second wasted could have disastrous results. “What’s the situation?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Jack comes to while the Jaffa are hauling him back to his cell, the guards practically pulling his arms out of their sockets, his legs and feet bumping and dragging awkwardly behind him. They drag him over the threshold and he’s so disoriented and confused, his reactions are too slow and the gravity shifts before he can prepare and he falls in a tangled heap to the floor, coming to rest against something soft._

_Its Sam…she barely moves when he lands on top of her and he quickly scrambles to his knees next to her. Rolling her gently to her back, he immediately sees the ragged hole in her T-shirt, the edges frayed and discolored by the acid. Jack expects to see a gaping hole in her mid-section, her intestines leaking out, but her skin is intact. Feeling even more confused and disoriented, he roughly jerks the T-shirt up, the weakened material ripping and exposing her to his view._

_He can’t believe it…her pale skin is smooth and intact; he reaches out hesitantly and touches her; her skin is so soft and cold as ice. His fingers move delicately along her ribcage until he comes to her breast and he pauses, letting his hand rest on the gentle swell. It’s faint, but he finally feels her heart fluttering rapidly beneath his hand, her chest barely moving with each erratic breath. She’s still alive and Jack wonders why he doesn’t feel more relief. Sitting back on his heels, Jack carefully pulls the torn edges of her T-shirt together, covering her as best he can. Ba’al must’ve used the sarcophagus on her, but that doesn’t explain why she’s still near death._

_Her eye flutter open and in the brief moment before she remembers where they are and what’s happened, he sees pleasure and…something more in her eyes. But all too quickly despair once more shadows her beautiful eyes. He gently caresses her cheek before taking her cold hand in his. “How do you feel?” His voice is a hoarse whisper and he works to keep his emotions under control._

_“Not so good.”_

_Jack can barely hear her, her voice is so weak. He leans closer and he’s surprised at the unexpected strength when she grips his hand tightly._

_“Jack, don’t let them take me again.” She pleads, desperation bleeding into her voice. “I can’t take anymore. I don’t know what he wants and he just keeps hurting me and hurting—”_

_“Shhh…” he murmurs, releasing her hand and pressing two fingers to her lips to stop the flow of her painful words. There is no accusation in her voice, just fear and bewilderment, but it doesn’t matter, Jack knows all to well that everything that has happened to her is his fault._

_Her hand grips his wrist, her nails digging into his skin. “Please…you have to stop this, Jack. Tell him whatever it is he wants to know.”_

_“I can’t.” Her hand tightens, her nails drawing blood, but he barely feels the pain._

_“Can’t or won’t?”_

_“God, Sam!” He pulls his arm free, scrubbing his hand over his face. “If I knew what he wanted, I would tell him! But I don’t!” His anger leaves as rapidly as it arrived, leaving frustration and misery in its place. “I don’t remember….”_

_The room starts to spin and he closes his eyes, feeling like he’s traveling through the Stargate, but without benefit of the wormhole. He thinks he must black-out for a moment, but then he feels all his muscles jerk and when the room stops spinning, he opens his eyes, only to discover he’s kneeling on the floor of Ba’al’s torture chamber with Sam still cradled in his arms._

_“So you do not remember?” Ba’al’s arrogant voice echoes through the room and Jack holds Sam closer, looking around wildly for the System Lord’s location. Ba’al steps out of the shadows, the usual sardonic smile on his face. “Perhaps this will refresh your memory.”_

_Ba’al drags Sam out of his arms and Jack lunges after her, but the two Jaffa guards are suddenly there, holding him back. Sam resists, but in vain; she’s too weak and Ba’al is too strong. Jack struggles too, desperately trying to break free from the Jaffa, but the guards subdue him easily, one of the hulking brutes wrapping a thick arm around his neck and holding him place, ensuring Jack has a front row seat to his worst nightmare._

_With the easy strength of a Goa’uld, Ba’al pins Sam against his chest. Her eyes are terrified and he sees her mouth move, but he can’t hear anything over the roar of the blood through his head. Ba’al’s lips curve in a twisted smile and with barely any effort, he snaps her neck, letting her fall out of his arms into a crumpled heap on the floor at his feet._

_“No!! Sam!” The Jaffa abruptly releases him and Jack falls to his knees, crawling unsteadily to the floor where she lies. He wipes at the tears streaming down his cheeks and when he reaches her, he pulls her limp body into his arms._

_“Sam, Sam,” he murmurs hoarsely, stroking her pale face, willing her eyes to open. He drops his head to her breast, shuddering with each ragged breath he takes, the enormity of what has happened so overwhelming that he starts to get that spinning-out-of-control-into-the-darkness-of-space feeling again. As if from a great distance, he hears Ba’al’s mocking laugh, distorted even more than usual._

_“You should have told me what I wanted to know.”_

_Jack’s head jerks up at the sound of the voice; his disorientation expanding exponentially when, instead of Ba’al, he sees the strange blonde from his nightmares. She lifts her left hand, the orange glow of the hand device already blinding him. The pain is immediate and intense, but instead of fear, Jack feels a strange sort of relief flow through him._

_“Jack.”_

_He looks down and realizes Sam is no longer in his arms; standing, he looks around and finally sees her._

_“It’s all right; everything will be all right now.” Sam smiles tenderly, the light behind her enveloping her in a brilliant halo, and she holds out her hand to him. A feeling of peace settles over him and Jack smiles, walking towards her. She’s right, everything will be all right once he’s with Sam._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We’re losing him!”

“No!!” Charlotte screamed, her beautiful face contorted with rage.

The heart monitor that had been going crazy just seconds earlier was now eerily silent, the electrical blip of O’Neill’s heartbeat getting slower and slower. McCormack scrambled for the drug box, ripping open syringes and popping open vials of medication with a desperation that was still controlled and efficient for all the urgency of the situation. One of his assistants held the mask over O’Neill’s nose and mouth with one hand, with the other slowly squeezing the bag, aiding his respirations.

Perry watched in sick fascination while the display on the monitor slowly faded away, feeling like he was going to puke his guts up any minute. This wasn’t he first time he’d seen one of their subjects die from her experiments, but this was the first time he’d witnessed anything so horrific. Not bothering to analyze what he was doing, Perry started frantically typing commands into the keyboard in a desperate attempt to abort the nanite’s programming. But judging by the continued strident sound of Ms. Mayfield’s voice and the few snatches of conversation he could hear from the medics, nothing was working. 

And then all hell broke loose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam tensed when she heard the woman’s scream and she nodded at Barrett, it was definitely time. The black clad special ops team surrounding them shouldered their weapons. Teal’c was already prepared with a zat in his hand, as was Jonas. Charlotte Mayfield obviously hadn’t been expecting anyone to discover the location of her hideout; access had been ridiculously easy. Or perhaps it was just typical Goa’uld arrogance. Whatever the reason, it meant that all exits were now blocked, three assault teams were poised to deal with whatever resistance they would meet and Fraiser was waiting just outside to deal with the fall-out. 

Barrett signaled to the leader of the assault teams and with a gesture of the man’s hand, the well-trained men slipped into action, stealthily disappearing into the depths of the warehouse. Sam was right behind them, her focus narrowed to the corner of the warehouse where a sliver of light shown from beneath a closed door. From the blueprints of the warehouse’s design, they knew the basics of what lay behind the door, a series of pre-fab rooms located around a central hallway, designed to house the administrative offices of the warehouse company. Simple and straightforward, providing they found the Colonel before anything more could be done to him.

Sam didn’t have to look around to know that Teal’c and Jonas were on her left, Barrett on her right, with the remaining assault team members fanning out behind them. The point man was poised at the door, his two counterparts ready with the battering ram. The sound of panicked voices carried easily through the thin walls of the office area and Sam’s finger twitched on the trigger of her weapon. Jack was somewhere behind those walls and he was depending on them to get him out. 

When they were all in position, Sam let Barrett give the final signal and the men lowered the battering ram. The door shattered with one hard thrust, the shouts of the team leader shouting, “Go, go, go!” echoing throughout the warehouse. With her weapon ready, Sam followed the assault team into the office area. Doors were crashing open, shouts of “Clear” filling the air; Sam moved quickly past the empty rooms, straining for any indication that Jack had been found.

“Major Carter!” The head of the assault team called to her from an open door at the end of the corridor, his weapon held ready. “In here!”

Sam raced down the hallway, her senses starting to tingle in that way they only did in the presence of Goa’uld. Shouldering past the men clustered in the doorway, she entered the room, her eyes sweeping the room in a visual assessment. Horror at what she saw filled her and if it hadn’t been for her training, she would have lost it completely. 

Three men stood around a gurney where the Colonel lay, two of them had already had their hands in the air while the third hovered at the head of the cart, holding some kind of mask thing over O’Neill’s face. A fourth man sat near an array of computers and other electronic equipment, his eyes wild and frightened, his hands also held high in the air. And off to one side stood a woman of medium height, dressed in a stylish business suit with her blonde hair swept up in an elegant style, her hands clenched at her side and slowly backing away. Sam recognized her from the photos Barrett had gotten of Charlotte Mayfield and there was no doubt in Sam’s mind that she was the Goa’uld.

“Teal’c, stop her!” Sam shouted, when Mayfield made a sudden movement towards a door in the far corner of the room. Confident that Teal’c and the assault team would be able to handle her, she ignored the shouts and commotion when they went after Mayfield and turned her attention to the Colonel.

“You,” she said, training her weapon on the man at the head of the bed. “Stop what you’re doing!” 

The man looked scared but didn’t stop squeezing the bag. “I can’t! He’s stopped breathing.”

“Get Fraiser in here immediately,” she snapped to Barrett. 

He nodded grimly, speaking into his radio, then added, “Get those three into custody.” More men swarmed into the room, restraining the two men by the gurney. The fourth man was also quickly restrained and had started babbling incoherently. 

With her gun still pointed on the man at the head of the bed, Sam asked, “What have you done to him?”

“It was her,” the man whined, still rhythmically squeezing the bag. “She did this to him. I’m trying to save him.”

“Sure you are,” Sam said with disgust. She wanted nothing more than to shoot the man where he stood, but right now he seemed to be the only thing between Colonel O’Neill and death. Two of the assault team were positioned with their weapons on the man, so Sam lowered her weapon and stepped closer to the gurney where the Colonel lay.

God, he already looked dead, his skin gray beneath his tan, his chest rising and falling with each squeeze of the bag. He was dressed only in a pair of blue scrub pants, with no top on, his chest naked with various wires snaking from heart electrode patches, his skin marred with red and blistered areas that looked almost burned. She glanced briefly at the heart monitor, reassured by the steady—if not slow—rhythm she saw there. Reaching out, she touched his hand, her fingers recoiling almost immediately at how cold he felt.

Fraiser burst into the room, her two medics behind her, hauling the cases with their equipment. “What’s the situation?” she demanded.

“I don’t know,” Sam said, backing up. “We found him like this.”

“You!” Fraiser said to the man breathing for O’Neill. “Report!”

The man responded to the authority in Fraiser’s voice and immediately started rattling off a string of medical terms. Sam only vaguely understood what he said and she watched while Fraiser and her team took control of the situation. One of her medics replaced the man at the head of the bed, one of the assault team hauling him out, along with his two companions. Janet and the other medic immediately got to work on O’Neill. Sam had no idea what they were actually doing and while things were still far from right, she felt infinitely more reassured now that Janet was there.

“Sam.” Barrett stood next to her, his hand on her arm. “You’ve got to see this.”

Reluctantly dragging her eyes away from O’Neill, Sam followed Barrett over to the small alcove cluttered with computer equipment. Jonas sat at the crowded and messy desk, his right hand on a mouse, images and code scrolling rapidly on the monitors in front of him.

“What is it?” she asked, peering over his shoulder at the code on one of the monitors. 

Jonas glanced at her. “I’m not sure. It seems to be some kind of command code for something.”

Sam could hear Fraiser issuing orders behind her and she shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the monitors. The code looked familiar…too familiar. 

“And then there’s this.” Jonas typed in a command and a second monitor flickered into life. 

The image was dark, and Sam frowned, leaning closer. “Can you adjust the picture? The contrast?” she asked.

Jonas complied and the image gradually lightened and Sam watched with growing dread. She recognized Jack immediately and while she had never seen Ba’al’s torture chamber in person, she had read the description of it in the transcripts from the Colonel’s debriefing after his return. She’d also never seen Ba’al in person, but again, she had no trouble identifying him. What she didn’t understand was that the woman Ba’al held pinned to his chest looked just like her. And when the Jack on the monitor screamed her name, her blood ran cold. 

“Shut it off,” she whispered hoarsely. The image faded away and Sam straightened up, turning to the fourth man being held securely by two of the assault team. She noticed for the first time that this man was dressed differently than the other three. He had on a rumpled and stained white lab coat over a blue shirt and jeans. His tie was askew, his short black hair spiky and rumpled. He stank of cigarette smoke and sweat, his scruffy appearance indicating it had been at least a day or more since he’d shaved. 

“What is this?” she demanded, gesturing towards the monitors.

“Bugs, little bugs.” The man’s blue eyes skittered wildly around the room, spittle flying from his mouth as he babbled. “Lady bug, lady bug, fly away home! Your house is on fire and your children all gone!”

Sam felt all her worry and fear coalesce into a burning, hot rage and before she could stop herself, she stepped forward and slapped the man—hard. His head jerked and he crumpled, only held up by the two men guarding him. Tears started rolling down his face. “She made me…she made me…” he whimpered, repeating the phrase over and over.

Disgusted, Sam said, “Get him out of here.” 

There was that ‘she’ again, Sam couldn’t wait to get her hands on Charlotte Mayfield. Barrett was staring at her like he’d never seen her before, while Jonas looked pleased. “Get all this equipment packed up and sent to the SGC—along with our prisoners.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barrett murmured. 

Sam spared him a briefly apologetic look before leaving them to their task. Glancing towards the gurney where Jack lay, it looked like Fraiser and her team had everything under control there. And as much as she wanted to satisfy her need to know every detail about how he was doing, there was still a Goa’uld to deal with. She looked around the room for Teal’c, frowning slightly when she realized he hadn’t returned, she keyed her radio. “Teal’c? Report.”

“Major Carter.”

Sam swung around at the sound of his voice, Teal’c stood in the open doorway. “Where is she?” 

“Charlotte Mayfield has evaded capture.” His voice was calm and steady, but Sam could see the frustration in his face. “Major Robinson,” he added, naming the head tactical officer, “is coordinating the search for her.”

“Don’t worry, Sam,” Barrett added, his face hard. “She won’t get away.”

Sam’s disappointment that Charlotte Mayfield had evaded capture was somewhat tempered by the fact that they had rescued Colonel O’Neill. “It’s okay,” she said, tucking her weapon back in its holster. “We’ve got the Colonel.”

She once more turned back to where the Colonel lay; Teal’c and Jonas moved to stand protectively next to her, one on each side. Teal’c placed a large hand on her shoulder. “O’Neill is strong,” he murmured. 

Almost undone by Teal’c’s comforting gesture, Sam took a shuddering breath, fighting to get her emotions under control. “I know,” she said, her voice husky. “It’s just…he’s been through so much.” Teal’c squeezed her shoulder and she covered his hand with hers briefly before taking a deep breath and getting back to business.

“How is he, Janet?” she asked briskly.

Fraiser stripped off her gloves, tossing them down onto a cart strewn with medical supplies. She glanced around the room, a look of annoyance on her face, before reaching into a vest pocket and pulling out a small bottle of what Sam recognized as antibacterial hand wash. The familiar scent of alcohol wafted into the air as Fraiser rubbed the gel into her hands. “He’s breathing on his own,” she said. 

Sam looked closer at Jack and saw he had a simple oxygen mask on his face now; she hadn’t realized they weren’t assisting his breathing anymore.

“And his heart is strong, though god knows what all they’ve put him through.” She frowned slightly then. “That’s the good news. The bad news is that he’s unconscious. It could just be drug-induced, but we won’t know until I can run a tox panel on his blood and get an MRI of his head.”

“We can Med-Evac him to Walter Reed,” Barrett commented.

Fraiser shook her head. “No…in spite of everything, he’s stable.” She looked directly at Sam then. “I’d like to get him back to the SGC as soon as possible.”

“Janet, are you sure?” She would just have to take Fraiser’s word that he was safe to transport.

“Sam, you know I wouldn’t suggest moving him if it wasn’t safe. If we keep him here, my hands will be tied. If he has been tortured by a Goa’uld like we think, then everything I need is at the SGC. And every minute we delay….”

“She has a point, Sam,” Jonas agreed. “And if the answer to what has happened to Colonel O’Neill is in those computers….” He paused and Sam glanced back over her shoulder into the alcove where even now the computers and equipment were being dismantled for transport.

“All right,” she said. “Get the Colonel ready to be transported back to the SGC.”

Fraiser nodded and turned back to her patient, her medics immediately jumping into action.

“Sam,” Barrett protested. “You don’t know what that will do!”

“Malcolm,” she said tiredly, running her hand through her hair. She knew the agent was truly concerned for O’Neill, but part of her couldn’t help but wonder if his concern masked some hidden agenda. “It’s too risky to keep him here, especially with our Goa’uld still on the loose. I trust Janet.” She glanced over to where the Colonel lay so still, the evidence of the last forty-eight hours branded on his bruised and battered body. “He’ll be safer at the SGC,” she said firmly—praying that she’d made the right decision.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The endless lines of code wiggled and danced before her; Sam squinted, trying to focus her tired eyes on the symbols, but they continued to dance drunkenly before her. She was tired and frustrated, the code was so familiar, yet she seemed unable to decipher even the smallest portion of it. Sitting back, she rubbed her eyes, ignoring the dry, gritty feeling when she blinked and fatigue pulled at her, yet she couldn’t stop. The Colonel was depending on them…on her, to help him. 

The sight of him, lying so still and quiet, covered with the pristine white sheets of his bed in the infirmary, the bedclothes remaining smooth and crisp over him. He looked for all the world like he was merely asleep and she fully expected him to wake up any minute and start complaining to Fraiser. But he didn’t. And with each test that came back negative, or even worse, inconclusive, she knew the answer lay hidden within the thousands of megabytes of encrypted code on the computers from the warehouse.

Rotating her shoulders, Sam forced her fatigue to the periphery, working through the pain was nothing new to her. Once more focusing on her monitor, she started scrolling through the lines of code, only to be interrupted by a cautious sounding knock on her open lab door. Frowning, she looked up to find Jonas standing in the doorway. Chafing at the interruption, she summoned up what she hoped was a welcoming smile. “Hey.”

“Sam,” he said with a brief nod. He came further into the room and she saw that he carried several CDs in his hand. “You need to look at these.”

She shook her head, gesturing towards the computer monitor. “Jonas, I need to work on this code. I’m sure it holds the key to whatever they did to the Colonel.”

“I know, Sam,” he replied, setting the disks down on her desk anyway. “You need to see what’s on these disks.”

Frustration welled up in her and she opened her mouth, ready to snap at him, but then stopped; the serious expression on his face and the concern in his eyes was so unlike the normally cheerful Kelownan. She picked up one of the disks, the words _“O’Neill, Session One”_ scribbled on the shiny surface in black marker.

That sick feeling returned and she looked at Jonas. “What is it?”

Jonas took the disk out of her hand and popped it into her computer, pulling up a stool and sitting down next to her. The computer started whirring and humming, the media player on her computer automatically coming to life. “I think it’s how they tortured him,” Jonas said quietly.

The disk started playing and Sam watched the sometimes blurred and fuzzy images with a sick fascination. It was like she was watching brief video bites of previous missions, as well as scenes she didn’t recognize. “I don’t understand,” she said, ignoring her uneasy sense of déjà vu. 

“There’s more,” Jonas said. He removed the disk in the machine and put in another one. Sam had a fleeting view of it, _“O’Neill, Session Five”._

She recognized the scene right away; she remembered every minute of that trip from the base to the old nuclear facility in vivid detail. The wind whipping the tarp of the transport as the driver raced down the highway, fighting to beat the clock that was inexorably counting down the minutes. The hard wooden bench, jostling all their bones with every bump and rut they hit in the road…the almost insubstantial weight of the young girl cradled in her arms, every beat of her heart bringing them closer to death and destruction. And the Colonel’s brooding gaze on both of them. 

It really didn’t seem to make any sense; it wasn’t until she saw her and Cassie disappear into the elevator that she realized they were watching what had happened through the Colonel’s eyes. She was momentarily fascinated by this glimpse into him, even after all their years of working together and all they’d been through, there was still so much he kept to himself. And then—

“Wait,” she said in confusion, when the countdown finished and instead of her and Cassie emerging in triumph from the depths of the facility, the structure started to shake and collapse. “That’s not what happened!”

“I know,” Jonas replied evenly, stopping the disk and putting in yet another one.

She didn’t recognize anything in the scene except for Jack. It was obvious he was being held captive, but instead of Air Force issue BDU’s he wore a non-descript dark brown tunic and pants. Nothing about the scene looked particularly threatening or dramatic, until he suddenly moved and the cell magically shifted and she watched as two Jaffa dragged a woman into the cell. 

“Stop it,” Sam said, barely able to speak when she recognized the woman. She couldn’t believe she had forgotten that brief snippet she’d seen back in the warehouse, of Jack, Ba’al and a woman that looked like her. There couldn’t be any doubt now that the woman was her and her thoughts were reeling from the implications. The faint headache lurking in her brain exploded and she rubbed her forehead. “I don’t understand,” she murmured.

Jonas stopped the disk. “I haven’t watched all of them, but out of the ones I have watched, there is one theme that is constant.”

Sam glanced from Jonas’s concerned face to the stack of disks on the table, there had to be at least ten, all gleaming menacingly at her. “Which is?” she asked faintly.

“Someone close to Colonel O’Neill dies.”

Sam’s eyes closed as she continued to listen.

“The first one appears to be a collection of random memories, I recognize most of them from mission reports I’ve read, though there are some that are obviously from the Colonel’s private life. With each successive disk, the scenes are more cohesive, each segment recounting a specific moment. Initially, all of the members of SG1 are involved but then it’s like the programming changed and became more intentional and only one member of SG1 is involved.”

“Me,” she whispered, finally opening her eyes.

Jonas nodded. “And each time you die, while Colonel O’Neill lives.”

“But why?” she asked bewildered, not really expecting an answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Doctor Janet Fraiser sat quietly at the briefing room table, her eyes moving thoughtfully from person to person, the doctor in her unable to rest. In the twelve hours since they’d left the Baltimore warehouse, she doubted any of them—including herself—had slept for more than an hour or two at a time. Even Teal’c looked tired and she wondered if he’d managed to get in any time in Kel-no-reem. Jonas, despite his obvious fatigue, still looked eager and anxious to work, while Sam….

Janet studied her friend with particular concern. Sam looked beyond exhaustion, the harsh fluorescent lights emphasizing her pale skin and the dark circles under her eyes. Janet didn’t have to ask to know that Sam, after a brief and painful visit to the infirmary, had worked through the night, meticulously cataloging and then beginning the painstaking process of going through every piece of equipment and data on the computers confiscated from Charlotte Mayfield’s house of horror. Janet didn’t want to order Sam to take a break, but if she kept pushing herself, she’d have no choice.

 _It was ironic,_ she thought, _that currently Jack O’Neill looked healthier than any of his team-mates, at least superficially_. Of course, being in a coma had its own drawbacks. And to her frustration, she was no closer to knowing the cause than she’d been back at the warehouse. She was still waiting the results of the MRI, and the drug smorgasbord slowly dissipating from his blood stream could have something to do with it. But if it had been the drugs, she’d have expected him to show some signs of wakening. However, he remained unconscious, though still breathing on his own. 

Hammond finally entered the room and Janet cast a critical eye over him as well. He looked no less grim than the trio already seated at the table—and just as tired. Janet stifled a sigh, if it would have done any good, she’d have ordered them all to bed for at least two hours. But she knew the futility of making that kind of suggestion as long as the Colonel was still so desperately ill.

“Doctor,” Hammond said without preamble. “Report.”

Janet didn’t need to open the folder in front of her to recount their findings, but she did anyway, using the few moments to gather her straying thoughts. “Colonel O’Neill is in a coma. I’m still not sure of the cause, though given the quantity and variety of drugs in his system, it could be drug-related.”

“We found him almost twelve hours ago,” Jonas interrupted. “Wouldn’t most drugs have been excreted out of his system by now?”

“Normally I would say yes, but there are still some chemicals we haven’t identified. And while the Colonel’s liver and kidneys appear to be functioning normally, it doesn’t mean that the substances we haven’t been able to identify aren’t responsible for his coma.”

“What else, Doctor?”

“He’s mildly dehydrated, somewhat malnourished. His body shows no physical signs of abuse, other than the burn marks on his chest, which according to the sketchy notes kept by that sorry excuse for an anesthetist, are from repeated uses of a cardiac defibrillator.”

“They had to use a defibrillator on him?” Even though she’d seen the situation firsthand, Sam still sounded aghast.

“Whatever they were doing to him caused his heart to stop beating on at least two different occasions.”

“How is his heart now?” Hammond asked.

“Fortunately the echocardiogram doesn’t show any damage. His chest x-ray however shows signs of pneumonia, so I’ve started him on broad-spectrum antibiotic, which has already started to work. His temperature is normal and his white blood count should start coming down.”

“So why is he still unconscious, Janet?” 

“I don’t know.” Janet deliberately closed the folder in front of her, resting her hands on it. “I’m still waiting for the results of the MRI and once all the drugs are completely out of system, we’ll be able to rule those out. My biggest concern is that he’s suffering from an anoxic brain injury.” Sam went visibly pale and Janet felt a surge of sympathy for the other woman. “When we arrived, they were ventilating him. Each time his heart stopped, the flow of oxygen to his brain was stopped. We only have the word of men who were willing accomplices to his torture that they were successful in resuscitation efforts.”

“Doctor, when will you have the results of the MRI?”

Janet glanced at her watch. “Any minute—”

“Excuse me, sir.” As if on cue, one of her corpsmen entered the briefing room, nodding at Hammond, an over-sized folder in his hands. “Doctor Fraiser, you said you wanted the MRI right away.”

“Thank you, Matthews,” she told the man, who handed the folder and immediately left the room. Janet eagerly slipped the X-ray film out of the folder, holding them up one by one to the light. She’d want to look at the disk, of course, and compare them to one of his older MRI’s, but so far nothing looked out of the ordinary, except…there was a shadow that shouldn’t be there in one cut. Quickly picking up the next sheet, she studied it for a moment, before tossing it down on the table and grabbing the next one in the series.

“Oh my god,” she said, staring at the images captured of the Colonel’s brain.

“Janet, what is it?” Sam asked, that fine edge of panic back in her voice.

“Doctor?” Hammond sounded calmer, but no less concerned.

She held the X-ray up to the light, so Hammond could see it. Sam, Teal’c and Jonas crowded around her.

“Oh my god,” Sam said, repeating Janet’s words.

“What am I looking at, Doctor?” Hammond snapped.

“Nanites, sir.” Using her finger, Janet pointed to several of the frames, the clumps of the microscopic devices gleamed brightly against the dull gray of the X-ray film. “Thousands of them….” She’d never seen anything like it, not even in any of the scans they’d done of Merrin. “They seem to be clustered in his frontal lobe, as well as here,” she said, pointing to an area near the mid-brain, “in the amygdala.” 

“Amygdala?”

“Part of the limbic system,” Jonas chimed in. “It functions primarily in how we process and remember emotions, and are probably also involved in how we dream.” Janet paused and looked at Jonas. “Or so I’ve heard,” he hastily added.

“Jonas is right,” she agreed, setting the X-ray down. She glanced at the trio, the two men now standing protectively next to Sam. With an inward sigh, she addressed Hammond. “His brain is infested with them. I think we’ve discovered the cause of his coma.”

“What can be done, Doctor?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, her mind racing through all the possible scenarios, running the gamut from brain surgery to doing nothing at all, however she greatly feared anything she had to offer was not going to be enough. “If we knew more about the nanites….”

“We’re still going through the data on the computers,” Jonas offered. 

“But everything we’ve found so far is way beyond anything I’ve ever seen before,” Sam added.

“What of the computer technician?” Teal’c spoke for the first time.

Fraiser frowned, trying to dredge up an image of the man to whom they referred, with limited success. She only had a vague memory of a sobbing man being dragged out by two of the assault team.

“Teal’c may be right,” Jonas said. He looked at Sam. “Maybe he can tell us about these nanites.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, with obvious reluctance. “He seemed pretty out of it.”

“He may be our best chance,” Janet said, looking at Hammond. “Until we know more about these nanites, I’m not sure what we can do.”

“Where is this man?” Hammond demanded.

“I believe Agent Barrett has him in custody, along with the other three,” Teal’c answered.

“Then have him brought here at once,” Hammond ordered.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_He wasn’t sure why he didn’t come here more often. For the first few years after Charlie’s death and the divorce, it had been too hard. Too many memories…teaching Charlie how to swim in the gentle waters off the dock, giving him his first ‘junior’ fishing pole and helping him catch his first fish. Memories that seemed better left to lie dormant, along with the fishing tackle._

_But now…he finally had a reason. Jack glanced at the woman sitting on the dock with him, the fishing pole held casually in her slim hands. Sam was a natural…he should have expected as much from a woman who could blow up a sun. She idly looked his way and when she caught him looking at her, she smiled._

_“Glad you came?” he asked._

_“Remind me again why we didn’t do this sooner?”_

_The brightness of her smile outrivaled any exploding stars and Jack never wanted to leave her warmth._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hammond stood, straight and tall, at the observation window overlooking the room that had become a temporary holding cell for their prisoner. Teal’c sat calmly at the simple table in the room; their guest on the other hand, restlessly paced the room, his movements jerky and twitchy, his voice high-pitched and alternating between a panicky whine and abject fear. George had seen many kinds of addiction in his years in the Air Force and this Doctor Wyatt seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into psychosis. He hoped for the sake of his people, that the man remained lucid long enough to provide them with some useful information. 

He didn’t like seeing his flagship team falling apart around him. Perhaps he’d been too lenient over the years, allowing the extraordinary working relationship that had developed so naturally between the four original members of SG1 to progress unchecked. He’d seen them cope successfully with every kind of menace and loss imaginable, but even the death of Daniel Jackson hadn’t exacted the toll that claimed the team with the loss of their leader. 

Not that Jack O’Neill was dead, but the disquieting memory of his arrival back at the SGC, along with Doctor Fraiser’s grim assessment of the situation, did not offer George any encouragement. His only consolation was that SG1 had cheated death on numerous occasions and he prayed that O’Neill hadn’t reached the end of his luck. 

Sighing, George returned his attention back to the holding cell and their prisoner, Doctor Perry Wyatt. He’d been stunned when he’d discovered that the man was considered to be a brilliant scientist and up until a year ago, had been employed by the government and worked out of Area Fifty-one. He was credited with a number of ground-breaking discoveries when it came to the alien technology that had been brought back to Earth. But all of that had been washed down the drain when the man’s addiction to methamphetamine had compromised his work and his life. 

To George’s surprise, the agitated scientist was now sitting calmly across the table from Teal’c. 

“Can I have a smoke?”

Teal’c nodded at the guard in the room, who pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket and handed one to the man. Wyatt’s hands were shaking slightly when he took it, the guard lighting the cigarette for him. Wyatt took a long drag on the cigarette and exhaled slowly, the act seeming to calm him.

“It wasn’t my idea,” Wyatt said. 

George smiled slightly when Teal’c didn’t answer, he had witnessed the Jaffa in action before and had developed an appreciation of his subtle interrogation techniques. 

“I told her it was a mistake. He was too high profile. But she wouldn’t listen. She never listens, you know?” Wyatt took another drag of the cigarette. “I told her the nanite technology hadn’t progressed far enough yet, but like always, she knew better. Fuck,” he said with a sharp snort, “always thinking she was smarter…better.”

“What did she do?” Teal’c’s low voice rumbled softly over the intercom.

“How the hell should I know?” Wyatt exclaimed, jumping to his feet, the chair he’d been sitting on falling backwards with a clatter. The scientist once more started pacing the room, gesturing wildly with his smoldering cigarette. “Fuck, if I knew, she wouldn’t have had to mess with my fucking program now, would she?”

Wyatt stopped pacing suddenly, placing both his hands on the table and leaning forward, almost in Teal’c’s face. The two guards in the room stepped closer. “You’ve got to help me, man,” Wyatt pleaded. “You’re killing me! I need treatment!” Teal’c remained silent and Wyatt pounded his fists on the table. “You’re killing me! Killing me! Killing me!” 

Teal’c remained silent and impassive as the now distraught man kept shouting and pounding on the table. The man looked on the verge of total collapse, his voice wild and frantic while he continued to shout. Hammond leaned over to the microphone. “Take him to the infirmary.”

George watched with a feeling akin to disgust while the guards quickly grabbed Wyatt, escorting him none to gently out of the room. Teal’c rose from his chair and nodded briefly at him before he too, left the room. George stood for a moment longer, staring down into the empty room. If all their hopes rested on this one man, then god help them—and Jack O’Neill.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s experienced a complete psychotic break.” Fraiser stood outside the isolation room, a grim look on her face. Hammond peered in through the small window. Wyatt lay on the simple cot in the room in four-point restraints, his eyes wide open and wild looking; his mouth open, a constant string of unintelligible muttering his only words. Sam had already looked in and while she didn’t have a medical degree, she’d witnessed enough aberrant behavior in her life to recognize that Perry Wyatt was lost in whatever world his drug-addled brain had created. 

“We need him, Janet. I’m not any closer to breaking the encryption than I was when I started.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’ve started him on anti-psychotics, but we won’t know for days yet whether that will make a difference.”

“Colonel O’Neill may not have that long,” Jonas added. Teal’c nodded his head in silent agreement.

“Isn’t there anything more you can do, Doctor?” Hammond asked. 

“I might be able to help you.”

The group gathered around the isolation room turned at the unexpected voice. Agent Malcolm Barrett stood in the hallway, a woman with him. Barrett looked as he always did, cool and unflappable in his precisely tailored suit, his tie a serious blue and red stripe. The woman standing next to him looked frightened, yet determined. She was young, Sam would judge her to be barely thirty; she was dressed in well-tailored red business suit, the splash of color making her stand out amongst the drab olive and black; her dark, tightly curled hair cut short and hugging her head, and even in high heels, the top of her head barely reached Barrett’s shoulder.

“Agent Barrett,” Hammond said, reaching out and shaking the other man’s hand. “I’d say it was good to see you again, but given the circumstances….”

“I understand, General,” Barrett replied. “Has there been any change in Colonel O’Neill’s condition?”

Sam saw the look Janet shared with Hammond, who nodded. Fraiser addressed the newcomers then. “He’s still in a coma, Mr. Barrett. His physical condition is slowly improving, but he remains unresponsive.”

“And you believe the coma is caused by nanites?” The young woman spoke, her voice carrying the slightest hint of a southern accent.

Fraiser exchanged another look with Hammond before she answered. “It’s the only anomaly we’ve found so far.”

“And you are?” Hammond asked.

“Sabrina Grainger, sir.”

“Doctor Grainger has been working at one of our facilities in Nevada.”

“Area Fifty-one?” Jonas asked dryly.

“I was Doctor Wyatt’s lab assistant, sir.”

Jonas stepped forward. “You know about the nanite technology?”

Doctor Grainger nodded. “I spent two years working with Perry…Doctor Wyatt,” she amended. “And then for another six months after he left.” She shrugged, her expression a curious mix of defiance and resignation. “But then I was pulled to another project, no explanation or anything.”

“Who better to help you with your current situation?” Barrett added, smiling for the first time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh, Perry,” Sabrina murmured under her breath, focusing on the complex algorithms on the monitor, “what did you get yourself into?” She could feel a headache starting to develop behind her eyes, the circumstances of her current situation and the involvement of Perry weighed heavily on her. It seemed almost unimaginable that the nanite technology had progressed so far, so fast, but the programming was telling her it had. And no matter how, or what she felt, she couldn’t stop until she’d figured out what had happened, the fate of at least one man and perhaps two, depended on her now. 

The scientist in her was enthralled with the story the lines of code told, the programming was fantastic, incorporating everything she and Perry had ever dreamed of in terms of turning their nascent nanite technology into a reality. But she was also appalled by how it had been apparently perverted and used, unscrupulously tested on human subjects. In spite of all that she’d been told and seen, she still couldn’t believe Perry had allowed their work to be used this way. She obviously hadn’t known Perry as well as she’d thought, since it seemed he had been a willing participant in such unethical research. 

But she wasn’t going to give up on him. Even in the midst of all their most fantastic speculation regarding the use of nanites, they had always maintained that this type of technology demanded certain constraints and inbuilt precautions; she was positive they would be there somewhere and now all she had to do was find them. Tuning out the distractions around her—the curious looks from Major Carter and the unobtrusive presence of Jonas Quinn—Sabrina concentrated on the display in front of her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam didn’t like feeling helpless; she was used to being busy, working relentlessly on whatever problem she and her team encountered, until she’d solved it. Sitting, and feeling like she had nothing to offer, while Doctor Sabrina Grainger worked her way through lines and lines of programming gave her way too much time to think. The dark haired woman sat on the edge of her chair, her blazer slung in the corner with her purse and shoes, which she’d abandoned almost immediately upon entering the lab. Jonas sat next to her, perched on a high stool, laptop computer open on his lap, equally immersed in tracking her progress. 

The two of them had been working non-stop for almost three hours, ever since Doctor Grainger’s arrival, with only a brief break by Grainger to grab a cola and use the bathroom. Sam didn’t question the affinity the two seemed to have developed; she was mostly relieved that Jonas had taken the role of liaison. She would help if asked, but if Grainger was anything like herself and every other scientist she knew, she’d work better and faster alone, especially with programming with which she was already familiar. 

Sam was impressed with her determination and wondered what motivated the woman, her only clues the brief encounter she’d witnessed when Sabrina had asked to see Wyatt, but quickly realized she didn’t have to look any farther than herself. It had been painful to watch Sabrina with Wyatt, the younger woman’s affection for him obvious and Sam couldn’t help but speculate if the two had been lovers while they had worked together; the poignant scene running through her mind.

_“I’d like to see Perry, if I could, before I get started.” Doctor Grainger more or less stated, her look of determination one with which Sam was familiar._

_Fraiser exchanged another look with Hammond and when the General nodded, she smiled graciously. “We have him in an isolation room,” she said, sliding her access card through the door’s automatic lock. “I’m afraid his condition has deteriorated since he was brought here.”_

_Grainger nodded and Sam, along with the others, stepped aside as the newcomer followed Fraiser into the isolation room. Not bothering to hide their curiosity, Sam, along with Barrett and the others, hovered just outside the room and watched. For the first time since they’d been introduced, Sam sensed uncertainty in the woman._

_Doctor Grainger stopped just inside the room, a look of profound sadness on her face when she saw Wyatt lying strapped to the bed. He was still muttering to himself, his hair wild and mussed, the scruffy growth on his face accenting his pallor and the hollowness of his cheeks._

_“You knew he had a drug problem?” Fraiser’s voice was quiet and gentle._

_“Yes,” Grainger replied. Her voice was so soft Sam had to strain to hear. “I tried to help him.” She shook her head and looked at Fraiser, sad acceptance in her face. “He’s brilliant, I’ve never worked with anyone like him. But it was never good enough for him and it seemed with each and every breakthrough, the pressure only increased for him to do even more.”_

_“So he started using?”_

_Sabrina nodded. “You know how it starts, ‘just a little’, he’d always say, to give him an extra boost to work through the night, finish the latest project. He’s not a bad man,” she said suddenly, her eyes moving beyond Fraiser to the group standing in the doorway, pleading for understanding._

_“Sabrina,” Barrett said, “time’s wasting.”_

_“Right,” she said, taking a deep breath and turning back towards Wyatt._

_Sam and the others watched as she approached the cot, reaching out hesitantly and slipping her hand into one of Wyatt’s restrained hands. “Perry, it’s me, Sabrina.”_

_Sam was surprised when Wyatt’s head jerked towards Sabrina and he stopped his muttering._

_“’Rina?” he mumbled, his voice slurred, seeming to focus for a moment. “Is that you?”_

_“Yes, Perry,” she said, her voice eager. “I’m here. Everything’s going to be all right.”_

_“No! No!” Wyatt started shouting and struggling against the restraints. “Get out! Get out! She’ll get you! She’ll get you!”_

_“Get me ten milligrams of diazepam, stat!” Fraiser ordered to the nurse in the room. “Doctor Grainger, please,” she added, insinuating herself between their visitor and her patient. Wyatt was sobbing incoherently now and still thrashing wildly on the bed._

_“I’m sorry,” Sabrina murmured, backing away, clearly upset. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”_

_“I know,” Fraiser said briskly, taking the syringe the nurse handed her. “But I think it would be best,” she turned, her eyes sweeping the room, “if all of you left now.”_

_“Very well,” Hammond said, taking charge of the situation. “Major? If you’ll take Doctor Grainger to some place where she can work?” Sam nodded and stepped back, waiting as Sabrina slowly left the room, a troubled look on her face._

Sam supposed she could pull up the woman’s file from Area Fifty-one, but that seemed like too much of an invasion right now, she trusted Malcolm, so she’d have to trust that he was right and Doctor Sabrina Grainger could help Jack. Sam eyed the stack of confiscated disks she’d taken from Jonas sitting by her computer and while it set her stomach churning to think of watching what they’d done to the Colonel, she should do something and every bit of information they could glean from what had been done to him could help. 

Since there wasn’t anything she could do at the moment to help Doctor Grainger, Sam reached for the top disk and carefully removed it from its case, slipping it into her computer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_The sun was hot, beating down on the dock; the sunlight dappling through the trees, the slightest hint of a breeze not nearly enough on the hot, summer afternoon. Jack squinted against the bright sunlight, Sam sat in one of the lawn chairs at the edge of the dock, her head bent over the book she held in her lap, the broad brimmed hat she wore acting as shield against the sun. She looked way too comfortable and content…and Jack suddenly had a crazy idea._

_Grinning broadly, Jack started jogging across the lawn towards the dock, tugging off his T-shirt and dropping it on the grass. When he hit the dock, she looked up, but by then he had momentum behind him and with a wild whoop, he did a cannonball right off the edge of the dock in front of her._

_The water whooshed around him and he just caught the beginning of her startled cry when his head went under the water. Quickly surfacing, he shook his head, sending water droplets flying. Sluicing the water off his face, he trod water and grinned up at Sam._

_“Jack O’Neill!” She had jumped up out of the lawn chair, her book in her hand and her hat hanging down her back by its string. Jack studied her critically; even though the end of the dock was splattered with water, he didn’t think she’d gotten all that wet. Why it looked like he’d hardly gotten any water on her at all. His eyes narrowed…he’d have to remedy that situation somehow._

_“You’ll be sorry!” she shouted, tossing her book down and yanking her hat off._

_“Oh, I hope so,” he hollered back. And then just to be on the safe side, he paddled back several more yards from the dock, the cool, clear water rippling around him._

_Sam pulled the gauzy top she wore over her head, revealing—much to his dismay—only her swimsuit top. She’d developed a nice tan since they’d been at the lake, her skin soft and silky, and Jack couldn’t wait until she was in the water. She kicked off her sandals next and Jack waited in eager anticipation for the next item of clothing to come off when she flashed him a wicked smile and, still wearing her shorts, in one graceful move dived off the end of the dock._

_She disappeared, water erupted around him, and he paddled around in a slow circle, waiting for her to surface when he felt a hand close around his ankle and he was suddenly yanked under the water. Laughing and gasping, he quickly surfaced and found her several yards away, her wet hair plastered to her head, her blue eyes sparkling and a huge grin on her face._

_“Come on, flyboy,” she taunted, one of her hands moving gracefully over the surface of the water and sending a spray of droplets his way. “Show me what you’ve got.”_

_“You asked for it!” Jack growled playfully. He heard Sam shriek in mock terror as he broke into a strong crawl, heading straight towards her. His hand closed around her ankle and he jerked her towards him; she gave in way too easily, but he didn’t care because she was in his arms, their wet bodies plastered together and he was kissing her and nothing else mattered._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How is he, Doctor?”

Janet Fraiser looked over to where Colonel O’Neill lay, looking for all the world like he was merely sleeping and not in a coma. The infirmary was quiet, the lights low, her competent staff already moving into stealth mode, readying the few other patients for sleep. She wasn’t surprised Hammond was still on base and she’d order him to leave if she thought it would do any good. But he’d ignore her, just like the other three members of SG1 had ignored her when she had suggested they get some rest.

“Basically the same,” she finally answered. “He isn’t responding to the antibiotic like he should and I suspect it’s because of those damn nanites.”

“Is that likely?”

“As likely as anything else.” Janet didn’t like the frown that formed on Hammond’s face and she continued. “We don’t know how the presence of the nanites is influencing the regulatory centers in his brain. They’ve obviously had a profound affect on his cognitive functions and given their location to the many of the mid-brain structures, it could very well be the nanites that are hindering his response. Of course,” she felt compelled to add, “the nanites could have nothing to do with it at all and it’s merely the cumulative affect of his captivity and pneumonia.”

“So you don’t know.”

“No, sir,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t.”

Janet waited when Hammond made no move to leave, his thoughtful gaze resting on the O’Neill. “Can you remove the nanites?” he finally asked.

She’d been expecting—and dreading—that question. “I’ve already sent the Colonel’s MRI to Doctor Van Densen, one of the best neurosurgeons available to us, and while an operation would be tricky, it could be done.”

“I sense a ‘but’, Doctor.” Hammond was nothing if not shrewd. 

“The nanites are clustered in areas of the brain that deal with the Colonel’s higher functions, his personality, memory, learning, as well as areas of more basic function. Even with the most careful dissection, brain damage would be inevitable and there’s always the possibility that even with their removal, his condition will remain the same.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that then.”

“Has there been any news from Doctor Grainger?” Janet hadn’t seen the scientist—or any of SG1—since after their guest’s arrival.

“Not yet. Though I understand the young woman has been working non-stop since she arrived.”

“I hope she can help us.”

“As do—” Hammond broke off at the sound of running feet and Fraiser frowned, ready to scold whomever it was, when Jonas’ skidded to a stop through the door. 

“Doctor Grainger has found something!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam sat quietly in the observation gallery, perched on the edge of her chair, watching the activity in the room below. When Sabrina Grainger had announced she’d found a way to neutralize the nanites in Jack’s brain, everyone had moved into high gear. Jack had been moved to the observation room while they waited for a special shipment of nanites from Area Fifty-one. Doctor Grainger had been escorted to the VIP quarters to rest and await the arrival of the nanites, Fraiser and her nurses were busy doing whatever it was they had to do in preparation and Jack slept.

At least it looked like sleeping. She’d watched him sleep so many times over the years, always in secret. Just like her feelings for him. She really wasn’t sure she could do it anymore…the secrecy…the denial…the constant ache in her heart. Something was going to snap and she really didn’t want it to be her. 

“Major Carter.”

Sam looked over her shoulder and summoned a small smile when Teal’c appeared in the observation room, taking a seat next to her. “Teal’c.”

They sat quietly for several minutes; in the room below them, Fraiser finished her exam of the Colonel, speaking briefly to the nurse present, before she left the room. She paused at the doorway and looked up to the observation room, her expression the carefully neutral one Sam knew all too well. The nurse straightened the already pristine sheets and blanket covering the Colonel, checked all his monitors and the oxygen, before lowering the lights and returning to the small desk in the corner, where she kept her vigil.

“You are still worried.”

Sam continued to gaze down into the observation room, watching for the slight rise and fall of the Colonel’s chest as he breathed. “I am,” she said softly. 

“You do not believe that Doctor Grainger’s plan will work?”

“I have a difficult time believing that injecting the Colonel with more nanites, even ones that will supposedly tell the ones already there to die and then die themselves is going to help.”

“It is no more unbelievable than nanites that can age an individual an entire lifetime in one hundred and twenty days.”

She glanced at Teal’c, a slight smile lighting her features for a brief moment. “Touché.” Teal’c inclined his head and she turned back to watching Jack.

“Do you think he’s in pain?” she murmured.

“I do not believe so.”

“He just looks like he’s sleeping.” She sighed softly, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hands.

“You feel responsible.”

Her stomach started churning, that queasy feeling taking up residence again. Teal’c always was way too observant. “You watched the disks?” She saw the reflection of his nod in the glass. “Then you know what they did to him…what she used to torture him.”

“You are not responsible for the actions of Athena.”

“Like I wasn’t responsible for his agreeing to accept a Tok’ra symbiote?” 

Teal’c didn’t rise to the bait and all of her frustration and fear suddenly erupted and she turned on him, standing up, sending the rolling chair she’d been sitting on careening against the wall. Teal’c slowly stood and she turned on him, her voice ragged. “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t asked him to agree to the blending. Kanan wouldn’t have used him, Ba’al wouldn’t have tortured him and this Athena would never have kidnapped him!” 

Teal’c’s expression remained calm and Sam could feel herself losing it. “You saw what she did, how she took his feelings…our feelings….” Her voice broke on a sob and before she could react, she was engulfed in Teal’c’s strong arms—and it was her undoing. She took a shuddering breath, leaning into his embrace and fighting back her tears. “I just don’t think I can bear it if anything happens to him.”

For a few brief moments Sam allowed herself the luxury of letting someone else be the strong one, but the moment was over all too soon. When Sam heard the tell-tale tap of Fraiser’s heels on the cement steps leading to the observation deck, she reluctantly stepped back from Teal’c and turned towards the windows, wiping at her eyes.

“Teal’c? Sam?” Fraiser’s voice was softly concerned. Sam wondered how much she’d seen, not that it mattered as far as the doctor was concerned. “The nanites are here. Doctor Grainger says she’ll be ready in half an hour.”

Hoping it wasn’t too obvious she’d been crying, Sam turned and faced the knowing eyes of her friend. “I guess I better go and see what’s going on.” She started to leave and when Teal’c didn’t follow, she stopped and asked, Teal’c?” 

Teal’c inclined his head. “I believe I will wait here.”

Sam summoned a slight smile and with a brief nod, left the Colonel in Teal’c’s care.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_The rain beat down on the roof, the occasional rumble of distant thunder competing with the steady sound of the rain and the creak of the bed frame. Jack was only dimly aware of the storm surrounding them, his attention solely focused on the woman in his arms. He still had trouble believing she was actually here with him, in his bed, wrapped in each others arms, their bodies moving together in perfect synchrony._

_He’d loved other women before Sam, had found pleasure in their arms and bodies, but those memories all faded away when he was with Sam. Her touch, her kiss, the soft swell of her breast, the curve of her waist and the strength of her love left no room for anything else in his memory. She was imprinted on his soul and he would never let her go. Her body quivered beneath his, her hands clutching at his hips, her soft cries breathless and full of longing—a longing which only he could satisfy._

_Her desire fueled his and Jack answered her plea, the melding of their bodies igniting a pleasure so intense that he was consumed by its fires, only to be reborn in the quiet aftermath in her arms. Panting for breath and shaken to his soul, he could do nothing but lie helpless in her arms and accept her soothing touch and loving words that would be etched forever on his heart._

_“Never leave me,” he whispered in her ear, his voice raw with emotion. His lips brushed briefly against hers as he lifted his head, dark brown eyes gazing down into deep blue ones. It was a demand he had no right to make, but he was beyond caring. “Promise me.”_

_“I promise.”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonas, along with Sam and Doctor Fraiser, clustered around the electron microscope where Sabrina sat, her eyes pressed to the eye pieces, her concentration absolute. “It still seems incredible that those microscopic…things can do what they did to Colonel O’Neill.”

“Nanotechnology has great potential, for all kinds of purposes—both good and bad,” Doctor Fraiser commented. “We’ve only begun to explore all the possibilities.”

“Well, more than explore it would seem, if everything Sabrina has told me is true.”

“Oh, they’re true all right,” Grainger murmured, never looking up from her task. “You’d be amazed at where nanites are already in use.” Her hands were steady when she picked up the syringe and carefully drew the minute amount of liquid containing the nanites into it. She sat back and held up the syringe, her dark eyes filled with the determination Jonas had already come to recognize. “It’s ready.”

It was a solemn procession from the lab to the observation room. Fraiser stopped at the door and faced the group. “It’s probably best if you all watch from the observation deck.” 

Jonas waited for Sam to protest, but beyond a slight tightening of her mouth, she nodded in agreement. They joined Teal’c and General Hammond in the observation deck, already standing at the window and watching the tableau below. Nurses and technicians hovered around the Colonel and the equipment, Fraiser worked from a small table set up next to his bed, putting gloves on and preparing the injection.

“It has to be injected directly into his arterial system,” Doctor Grainger commented, while Fraiser loaded the syringe into the auto-injector.

“What happens then?” Hammond asked.

“The nanites used on Colonel O’Neill work from a basic program that Perry developed when I worked with him at Area Fifty-one.”

“I thought you said the nanites in the Colonel had been modified,” Jonas interrupted.

“They have, their programming is much more sophisticated now, but the basic programming is still the same.” Hammond looked skeptical and Sabrina continued. “Think of it like a cake recipe. No matter what kind of cake you ultimately end up with—chocolate, orange, spice, whatever—the basic ingredients stay the same, flour, eggs, water, leavening. And since the basic ‘recipe’ of the nanites remains the same, we can still influence their activity.” Sabrina sighed softly, “At least I hope so.”

“Then let’s hope your new recipe works, Doctor,” Hammond added.

“How are they able to help O’Neill?”

“They have a kill switch,” Sam replied, her voice soft.

Sabrina glanced at the other woman, who still looked into the room below. “Major Carter is correct. When Perry and I first developed this programming, we built-in a kill switch, just in case.” She shook her head, her expression troubled. “I never thought we’d actually need it.”

“Anyway,” she continued briskly, “I had to search for it, but I found the same kill switch embedded deep in the system program. I think he must have been trying to hide it. The bottom line is that the nanites in Colonel O’Neill still have that basic program and the new nanites that are going to be injected into him have the kill switch activated and they will pass that programming onto the others. Once the nanites are ‘infected’ with the kill switch, they’ll deactivate, begin to break-up harmlessly and be absorbed by the Colonel’s body.”

“What of the new nanites?”

“They’re programmed to die within twelve hours of injection.” 

_“We’re ready.”_ Fraiser’s voice sounded over the intercom.

Jonas moved closer to the window, all eyes now on the small group surrounding the Colonel. Fraiser nodded to her staff; one of the nurses injected something into the Colonel’s intravenous line while a second swabbed his neck and then held his head.

 _“I’ve given him a light sedative,”_ Fraiser commented, looking up towards the group in the observation room. _“Just in case.”_

Standing at the edge of the group, Jonas took a moment to study his friends. They felt more like family to him now, after all they’d been through, and they were all hurting in their own ways. He’d only just met Sabrina Grainger, but he felt like he already knew her well. She looked at once nervous and confident and Jonas could only imagine what was going through her mind. That they were all depending on her to save the Colonel had to be a tremendous burden and there was the matter of her friend and colleague, Perry Wyatt. In their conversations he’d sensed a deep sorrow in relation to the other scientist and he believed she was not only trying to save O’Neill but save Wyatt as well.

General Hammond stood tall and straight, his hands at his side. Jonas had grown accustomed to the General’s stoic and sometimes brusque manner. But he also knew the General was one of the kindest and giving men he’d ever met, and that he held true affection for his most unconventional team and their maverick leader. 

Teal’c stood next to Hammond, standing equally straight and tall, his usual calm demeanor giving nothing of his feelings away. Of everyone he had met since arriving on Earth, he felt the most affinity for Teal’c, even though they were vastly different in personality and temperament. Teal’c had been the first one to accept him as he was and for that, he was grateful. Jonas had caught glimpses of the deep bond between Teal’c and O’Neill and he feared that if O’Neill did not recover, Teal’c would silently take his leave of the SGC.

Which left Sam. Jonas worried about her the most. He wasn’t blind and he wasn’t stupid and even though they took great care to keep it hidden, he had quickly figured out that while Teal’c and O’Neill shared a deep bond of friendship, forged by their similar roles and the heat of battle; Samantha Carter and Jack O’Neill shared a connection that went much deeper and for reasons that he both did and didn’t understand, chose to hide. 

Jonas had seen the brief flashes of longing in O’Neill’s face when he’d gaze at Sam when she wasn’t aware; the smile he reserved only for her and the deep respect and affection the older man couldn’t completely hide—and that his two friends pretended to ignore. He could tell Sam was stretched to the breaking point and he greatly feared what would happen to her if O’Neill did not recover.

_“There. It’s injected.”_

Startled, Jonas looked back down into the room, he’d completely missed the moment when Doctor Fraiser had injected the nanites.

“What now?” Hammond asked, speaking into the microphone connected to the room.

Fraiser looked up, her expression closed. _“We wait.”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Jack stood by the front window, the lazy days of summer were giving way to the shorter days and cooler nights of autumn. The leaves on some of the trees were already starting to change and the loons, geese and other water fowl that made the lake their summer home were slowly disappearing, winging their way south. Sam sat curled up on the sofa, her laptop resting in her lap, her brow furrowed with concentration while she worked. He felt like time was growing short and he wasn’t ready to leave. “Do you love me?”_

_Sam looked up, her face puzzled, but she answered readily. “You know I do.”_

_“Do you remember what you promised me?”_

_“I’ll never leave you.”_

_“I’m not going back.” There, he’d finally said the words, admitted the conviction that had been growing in him for some time now._

_“I don’t understand.” She said the words slowly, her smile fading and her eyes cautious._

_“I’m not going back. To the SGC, the Air Force, any of it. I’m going to retire—for good, this time.”_

_He didn’t move from the window when she set the laptop on the coffee table and gracefully unfolded her legs from beneath her and stood up. He held himself perfectly still when she stopped in front of him, her blue eyes full of love and compassion, and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. His arms came up around her and he held her tight, burying his face in her hair._

_“I can’t go back, Sam,” he murmured. He knew he didn’t need to explain it to her, but he did anyway. “I’m tired of pretending. And I know I’m not irreplaceable.”_

_“Don’t say that,” she protested._

_He snorted softly. “Hell, Sam, there are plenty of younger, tougher and more capable men—and women—who can carry on saving the universe in my place.”_

_“What about us?” Her voice was a whisper and he wasn’t even sure she’d spoken until she tilted her head back and their eyes met._

_He looked deep into her clear blue eyes; she held his life in her hands and he surrendered. “That’s up to you.”_

_Her eyes softened and she smiled tenderly; his breath caught in his chest when she reached up and lightly caressed his face. “What’s it like here in the winter?”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam had deserted her post on the observation deck hours earlier, creeping into the Colonel’s room in the late hours of the night. The nurse on duty had smiled sympathetically and had pulled an extra chair over to the side of the bed where there was the least amount of medical equipment and paraphernalia. “My name is Cynthia, Major. If there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.”

Sam somehow managed to muster up a grateful smile and sank down on the chair, prepared to continue her vigil, no matter how long it lasted. She was past caring about keeping up appearances and even in spite of the current situation, she felt a certain relief at giving up the pretense. She…cared about Jack O’Neill and if the Air Force didn’t like that, well, she’d just deal with the consequences. Right now nothing mattered more than him. 

Her eyes moved lovingly over his features, his brow slightly furrowed, even in sleep. She knew he wasn’t truly asleep, but she balked at thinking of him in a coma. His color was better; she reached out hesitantly and touched his face, her fingers gliding delicately along his cheek, the slight stubble rough against her fingertips. His skin was warm, but not hot, like he still had a fever and to her untrained eye, it seemed like he was breathing easier.

Cynthia approached the bed then and Sam pulled her hand back, watching as the woman checked the monitors and took his blood pressure. “He seems better,” Sam commented.

The nurse straightened up, slipping her stethoscope back around her neck. “His fever has come down and his vital signs are better.” 

“When will we know if the treatment is working?”

“I’m not really sure what to expect.” Cynthia sounded apologetic. “Sometimes patients in comas wake up all at once and other times it’s slow and gradual. It’s hard to say.” She straightened out his IV lines and made an adjustment to the intravenous machine. “Doctor Fraiser has ordered an MRI for oh-six hundred. So we’ll know something then.” 

Sam nodded and Cynthia returned to her station, leaving her undisturbed with Jack. Before common sense could stifle the impulse, Sam scooted her chair closer and slipped her hand into his, where it rested on top of the covers. Even unconscious, she could still sense the strength and gentleness in his hand, her hand looking small and almost fragile compared to his. But right now, she had to be the strong one and she gently squeezed his hand. 

“Jack,” she whispered softly, watching his still face for any response. “Please come back to us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Janet Fraiser stood in the doorway of the observation room. Samantha Carter sat slumped over her commanding officer’s sick bed, her head pillowed on her arms with one hand still resting inside the Colonel’s. It was still too early for most of the other base personnel to be moving about and besides, the observation room was restricted, but that didn’t mean that she approved of what she saw. Her eyes flicked over the monitors and satisfied with what she saw there, she quietly walked across the room to the small desk area.

“Cynthia,” Fraiser asked briskly, “how long has Major Carter been here?”

“Since just after midnight, ma’am.” Janet favored her most competent and able night nurse with a frown guaranteed to send younger and less-experienced corpsmen and nurses running, but Cynthia remained unmoved. “She needed to be here and it hasn’t hurt him.”

Fraiser chose to ignore Cynthia’s astute assessment and instead asked, “How is he?”

Cynthia handed her the clipboard containing the night’s flow sheet. “Better. His temperature has been down all night and his heart rate is normal.” Cynthia sighed, her look troubled and both women looked over to where their patient lay, so still and quiet. “His Glasgow Score is still three.”

Janet felt more disappointment than she liked. While she hadn’t truly expected Doctor Grainger’s dose of reprogrammed nanites to be a magic bullet, she had hoped for some response from O’Neill. “Call for the MRI now, Cynthia, and get him ready for transport. We need to find out what’s going on in his brain.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she murmured.

Janet left Cynthia to expedite the necessary arrangements and went over to her patient. Cynthia was right, he did look better…if looks counted, which sadly, they didn’t. Crossing to the other side of the bed, Janet reached out and lightly shook Sam’s shoulder. “Sam,” she said firmly. “Time to wake up.”

Her friend’s movements were slow and sluggish, attesting to her continued fatigue and the stress of the situation. Even with whatever minimal rest she’d been able to obtain at O’Neill’s bedside, Sam still looked beyond exhausted, the shadows under her eyes magnified by her pallor. 

“Janet,” she murmured, looking around in mild confusion. “What time is it?” 

“Just after five. We’re going to take him for the MRI now, Sam,” Fraiser said gently, waiting patiently for Sam to nod in acknowledgement. “Why don’t you go freshen up; get something to eat. Hammond’s already scheduled a briefing for oh-eight hundred.”

Sam looked down, as if just realizing she still held O’Neill’s hand. “Right,” she replied quietly, releasing his hand and slowly standing. “How is he?” she asked.

“He’s still in the coma, Sam,” Janet answered. “We need to get the MRI to assess if there have been any change in the nanites.”

“Janet—”

The look in Sam’s eyes bordered on desperation but Janet remained firm. “Sam, go,” she ordered, taking her by the arm and urging her towards the door. “I’ll let you know if there’s any change.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George Hammond prided himself on not only knowing the people under his command, but understanding them. It was a valuable lesson he had learned early on in his career and it had served him well over the years. With the few steps it took him to walk from his office to the head of the briefing room table, he was able to immediately assess the current situation. He nodded briefly to the four under his command who stood as he entered the room and their two guests, who remained seated.

George took his customary seat at the head of the table, the chair to his right conspicuously empty. Malcolm Barrett sat in the chair to his left, a subdued-looking Sabrina Grainger sitting next to him. Janet Fraiser sat directly across from Doctor Grainger and the remaining three sat clustered in a small group at the end of the table; SG1 already closing rank and protecting each other. 

Jonas Quinn sat between Janet Fraiser and Major Carter, and George got the distinct impression the Kelownan was acting as a buffer between his team mate and the rest of them. Teal’c wasn’t even sitting, but stood behind Major Carter’s chair, his entire stance and demeanor one of protection. None of the individuals around the table looked particularly well-rested, but Samantha Carter looked absolutely exhausted. If the situation continued for much longer, George knew he’d have to take some action, but for the moment, he was hoping for a miracle.

“Report, Doctor,” he ordered, addressing Janet Fraiser.

“Since the injection of the modified nanites, Colonel O’Neill’s condition has improved. His temperature has stabilized, as well as the rest of his vitals and the antibiotics we’re giving him appear to be having an effect. Unfortunately, he’s still in a coma.”

“So the reprogrammed nanites didn’t work?” 

“Well…no,” Fraiser said slowly. “According to the MRI scan we did this morning, over ninety percent of the nanites are gone from the Colonel’s brain tissue. Jonas, would you mind?”  
Jonas leaned forward at the doctor’s request and turned on the LCD projector positioned in front of him.

“This image is from the first MRI scan we took of Colonel O’Neill’s brain.” Fraiser pulled a laser pointer out of her pocket, the tiny red light dancing over the image. “You can easily see the clustered nanites here and here.” She nodded at Jonas who pressed a button and the image changed. “This is from the scan we took this morning. The difference is amazing. There are only two tiny clusters of nanites left.” The laser pointer moved, highlighting two tiny areas on the scan. 

“So why hasn’t he woken up?”

“I don’t know,” Fraiser said. “Everything else on the MRI is normal, as is his the latest EEG, the waveforms are those of someone in a deep sleep.”

“Doctor Grainger,” Hammond said, addressing the young woman. “Are you sure the nanites are non-functioning?”

“Positive, sir,” she replied, her voice quiet but firm with conviction. “I was able to retrieve several nanites from a sample of the Colonel’s blood that was drawn this morning. I isolated several nanites from the ones that we injected yesterday as well as several from the original group. All of them were dead and beginning to disintegrate.” Grainger looked genuinely confused. “Whatever is causing his continued coma, it’s not the nanites.”

“Maybe it’s something else that happened during his captivity,” Malcolm Barrett interjected, speaking for the first time.

The trio at the end of the table suddenly went very still and George’s eyes narrowed. “Major Carter? Teal’c? Mr. Quinn? Do you have any information that might shed light on the Colonel’s current condition?”

To George’s surprise, it was Teal’c who spoke first. “Athena used an old and very effective form of torture on O’Neill.”

Jonas picked up the narrative then. “As best we can tell, she first used a modified Tok’ra recall device that had been integrated with the nanite technology to interrogate the Colonel. This appears to have given her some limited success, but much like Ba’al, she wasn’t able to access the deeper memories of O’Neill’s blending with Kanan.” 

“You said this is what she did at first,” Hammond prompted.

Jonas nodded, his expression somber. “When that failed, she apparently decided to take the nanite technology a step further. Using what she’d already learned, she programmed the nanites to build on the knowledge they’d already gained regarding Colonel O’Neill and use that information to give him false memories.”

“But why?” Hammond asked. 

“She used his deepest fears against him.” 

Sam spoke at last, her voice so soft Hammond had to strain to hear her. “Major?”

“Athena directed her attack at her enemies most vulnerable spot—his team,” Teal’c answered for her.

“I see.” George’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need—or want—any further explanation; he hadn’t gotten off the boat yesterday. The fierce loyalty and dedication SG1 had for each other was almost legendary and he had no doubt that this Goa’uld had taken that loyalty and perverted it to her own, evil purposes. An idea suddenly occurred to him and he addressed Barrett. “Perhaps this Athena can help us?”

Barrett shook his head. “I’m sorry to report that we haven’t been able to find her yet. But I’m confident we will,” he added. 

“If Charlotte Mayfield even still exists,” Sam murmured.

“Sam’s right,” Jonas was quick to add in the startled silence after Sam’s comment. “What’s to prevent Athena from taking another host? We’d have no clue to her identity then.”

Barrett turned an unhealthy shade of gray and abruptly stood. “Excuse me please, while I go make a call.”

“That still doesn’t help Colonel O’Neill.”

“General,” Fraiser spoke, the slightest hint of excitement in her voice. “I think I might know why Colonel O’Neill hasn’t woken up.”

“Go ahead, Doctor.”

Fraiser sat forward in her chair, an excited gleam in her eyes. “Now, I’m not expert, but from what we’re hearing, the Colonel was exposed for days to horrifying images, presumably from these nanites. He was also given toxic doses of mind-altering drugs, his tox panel was a virtual pharmacopoeia of hallucinogenic compounds.”

“Are you suggesting he has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?” Sadly, George was very familiar with the sequelae of PTSD and its affect on the men and women suffering from it.

Fraiser shook her head. “No, it’s more complex than that. I believe that in order to protect himself, Colonel O’Neill has retreated to a ‘safe place’ in his subconscious mind. Similar to a fugue state, but in this case, since he couldn’t physically flee, his conscious mind escaped.” 

“Why does he not return, now that the threat is over?” Teal’c rumbled.

“He may not know it, Teal’c. We have no way of knowing what kind of protective walls he’s erected to keep his psyche safe.”

“So what do we do, Doctor?”

“I don’t know, sir. There may be nothing we can do.”

“Doctor Grainger? Can your nanite technology help him?”

Sabrina Grainger shook her head. “Programming that sophisticated is years beyond any of our current technology.”

“But you were able to shut down them down,” Jonas protested.

“That basic command was already programmed into the nanites. To write a program to tell a new group of nanites to go into Colonel O’Neill’s brain and tell him that everything is okay, well, we need this Athena person—or Perry.”

A palpable silence fell over the room. Whatever miracle Hammond had hoped for hadn’t materialized, for even though O’Neill was no longer in danger from the nanites, he was far from being cured. Hammond sighed inwardly and addressed Fraiser again. “What do you recommend, Doctor?”

“Well, sir, I—”

“Wait!” Jonas interrupted, his features animated. “What if we could tell Colonel O’Neill that everything is okay?”

“Jonas, I don’t see—” Fraiser said, with a frown

“What are you suggesting, Jonas Quinn?” Teal’c smoothly interjected.

“I remember this from one of the early mission reports I read when I first started with SG1. You went to this planet, P7J-989 I believe, where the inhabitants lived vicariously through a virtual reality simulation.”

Sam straightened up, her expression was still somber, but her voice vibrated with subdued interest. “Jonas, you might be onto something.”

“Weren’t some of those machines brought back to Area Fifty-one?”

“What machines?” Hammond demanded, searching his memory for any details of P7J-989.

Sam leaned forward, speaking eagerly. “It was during our second year. We went to P7J-989 and discovered the people living in a virtual world. The caretaker of the world called himself the Gamekeeper. He held us captive and used these VR devices to enable us to relive events from our lives, and make changes.”

“It was most disturbing,” Teal’c growled.

“I know that project,” Sabrina added enthusiastically. “I worked on it for a few months before I was transferred to the nanite program.”

“Are you suggesting that we use one of those alien virtual reality machines to somehow communicate with Colonel O’Neill?”

“Yes!” Three voices said simultaneously.

“Sir,” Sam said, “I know it’s a long shot, but the last report I read indicated that while years away from practical use, the machines are still functioning and the interface has been adapted to our technology.”

“Sergeant!” Hammond called. Walter appeared at his side almost instantly. “Contact Area Fifty-one immediately.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_The wind howled around the sturdy cabin, the snow blowing and piling up against the walls, but they were snug and warm inside. A fire blazed in the stone fireplace while he and Sam lounged cozily on the sofa, an old black and white movie playing in the background adding to the ambiance. Sam wasn’t watching the movie, she was immersed in the stack of papers piled next to her, but he didn’t care. She was by his side and that’s all that mattered._

_At first, Jack had been worried that Sam would find life in Northern Minnesota too slow, but she’d adapted more easily than he’d expected. She’d somehow finagled two part-time faculty positions in Duluth, one at the University of Minnesota and one at a small private college. And even then, she was only away one or two days a week, video-conferencing and telecommuting were definitely his friends. If she missed the excitement of the SGC and their previous life, she didn’t show it—and he never asked._

_And perhaps more surprising, he didn’t miss it either. Life was never dull or boring, there was always something on the property requiring his attention and in an unexpected spurt of entrepreneurial spirit, he parlayed their full-time status at the lake into a part-time home security business, which mostly amounted to keeping an eye on the homes and cabins around the lake that were closed for the winter; which fit in nicely with his other ‘chores’ and of course, his ice-fishing._

_“There,” Sam said, picking up the stack of papers and slipping them into a large file folder. “Finished.” She set the folder aside and smiled at him. “I really need to reconsider this whole using paper for written assignments thing. Maybe next semester.”_

_When she snuggled against his side, he put his arm around her. “Want me to start the movie over?” he asked idly._

_“Hmm…” she murmured, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder while she lightly walked her fingers up his chest. “I can think of something else I’d rather do.”_

_In a move that showed his reflexes were still in prime shape, Jack pulled Sam across his lap and swiftly rolled on top of her. She laughed, smiling up at him and looping her arms around his neck. “Great minds think alike, I see,” she teased._

_Jack shivered when she raked her nails lightly through the now longish hair at his nape and settled his hips more snugly against her. She obliged and spread her legs, making room for him. Propped up on one elbow over her, he gazed down at her. God, he never got tired of this—or her. He couldn’t even remember now what it was like before, he’d been a damn fool back then. Thank god he’d seen the light._

_“Well?” she asked. Her eyes sparkled and the hand still on his neck exerted just the slightest amount of pressure._

_Taking the hint, he lowered his head and with his lips just touching hers, murmured, “Better?”_

_“Much.”_  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While the wheels of the SGC bureaucracy could spin fast, other agencies weren’t as agile and an emergency that didn’t contain the words ‘immediate annihilation’ wasn’t going to hurry them along. Even the designation of ‘medical emergency’ hadn’t been enough for the pencil pushers at Area Fifty-one, given that O’Neill wasn’t at the brink at death, though George had to bite his tongue when that particular cliché was tossed his direction. So it was almost a full week before the paperwork was signed—in triplicate—and two of the devices obtained from P7J-989 were crated up and readied for ground transportation to the SGC.

There was a knock at his door and Hammond glanced at the clock—it would be Doctor Fraiser, right on time for what had become his daily briefing on Colonel O’Neill’s condition. To George’s dismay, there had been little new to report during the previous seven days. “Enter,” he said, closing up his laptop as the door to the room opened.

As expected, Janet Fraiser stood there. When he nodded, she closed the door behind her and took a seat in one of the chairs across his desk. As usual, she held a file folder in her hand, but she rarely looked at the contents and George sometimes wondered why she persisted in bringing it with her.

“Good morning, sir,” she said briskly.

“Doctor.” 

“Shall I begin, sir?”

“In a moment, please,” he replied. A slight frown marred her features at the departure from their normal routine. “I’ve just been notified by Colonel Belding at Area Fifty-one that the necessary paperwork has been finished and the devices we requested will be shipped here.”

“That’s good news, sir,” she said, exhibiting more enthusiasm than he’d seen in several days. “It sure took them long enough,” she added.

They’d had this particular discussion before and he replied evenly. “Unfortunately, Colonel Belding has a different definition of what constitutes an emergency.”

“I bet he wouldn’t be so cavalier if it was one of his personnel affected.”

“Be that as it may, Doctor. They’re on their way now.”

“How soon will they arrive, sir?”

“In forty-eight hours.”

Fraiser’s lips tightened, but she didn’t make any further comments.

“What is Colonel O’Neill’s condition?” he asked, getting to the heart of their meeting.

She sighed. “His pneumonia has almost completely resolved. The last chest x-ray we took shows that his lungs are almost completely clear.”

“And his mental condition?’

“Remains unchanged, sir. He remains unresponsive to any stimuli. The most recent MRI shows that there are no remaining nanites in his brain. At Doctor Grainger’s recommendation, we also performed a whole body scan and while there are isolated nanites still visible in his circulatory system, the majority have dissolved, just like she said they would.”

“And his EEG?” 

“Again, the most recent one indicates a brain wave pattern indicative of deep sleep.”

Hammond sat back in his chair. “Are you still of the opinion that his coma is a defense mechanism against Athena’s torture?”

“I’m not sure there’s any other explanation, sir. All of his brain scans—and the EEG’s—show no sign of any brain damage. As far as we can tell, there is no physical reason for his coma. Which only leaves a psychological one.”

“Very well, Doctor. Keep me apprised of any changes in his condition.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. With a slight nod of her head, she rose and left his office.

Through the window, George followed her progress through the briefing room where SG-8 was already assembling for their mission briefing. Life at the SGC went on as usual, slowing down for no one, the massive military machine rolling forward. Each day without any change in O’Neill’s condition brought them closer to the day when a decision would have to be made regarding his eventual disposition, a day which George hoped he never had to see. 

He’d had to do some fancy talking to get the powers that be to agree to the seemingly far-fetched plan hatched by SG1 and he knew if Jack wasn’t a favorite of the current administration, the answer would have been a resounding no and O’Neill would have already been shunted off to some back-water military hospital, to spend the rest of his days in a vegetative state. He owed it to the man, hell, the entire world and universe owed it to Jack O’Neill to try whatever means they could—no matter how crazy or far-fetched—to save his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Janet Fraiser paused at the open doorway, taking a brief moment to study the occupants unobserved, before she announced her entrance. It was early evening and most all of the dayshift personnel had left for the day, going to their homes and families, leading their normal lives. She wasn’t surprised that Sam Carter was still on base, Janet had her sources and she knew Sam hadn’t left the base since O’Neill had been brought back. She didn’t like it, but it was an issue she wasn’t going to force. 

Sam sat are the worktable in her lab, wearing magnifying loops and hunched over a piece of alien technology, a micro-screwdriver in her hand. From her position at the door, Janet could just see Teal’c sitting off to one side of Sam, an open laptop computer in front of him, the Jaffa never far from Sam’s side in the days since O’Neill’s kidnapping. Janet already knew the location of the third member of their trio, she’d swung by the dining hall on the slim chance that Sam might be there and she’d seen Jonas having dinner with Sabrina Grainger. Without their leader, SG1 was slowly dying and she was helpless to stop it. 

Janet sighed softly and, straightening her shoulders, smiled cheerfully and knocked on the door. “Hey.”

Sam looked up, slipping off the visor and setting the screwdriver down. “Hi, Janet.” Teal’c looked up from the laptop and inclined his head in acknowledgement of her presence.

Stepping further into the room, Janet came and stood next to Sam. “What are you working on?”

Sam pushed the elegant looking piece of technology away. “Oh, just something SG-11 brought back from their latest mission.” She shrugged and poked at it with her finger. “I think it’s some kind of remote device…something.”

“Cassie and I are going out for pizza and a movie tonight. I thought you might like to come along? Cass would love to see you.” Janet looked over at Teal’c. “You too, Teal’c,” she added brightly.

Sam didn’t respond right away and Teal’c smoothly answered. “I regret I must decline, Doctor Fraiser. Major Lorne has requested my assistance in teaching his marines advance combat techniques, our first lesson is tonight.”

“Sam?” Janet asked, looking at her friend. The doctor in her had already noted the dull, lifeless sheen in her hair—a look that was reflected in her eyes. Her skin was slowly taking on the unhealthy pallor of someone who hasn’t been out in the sun lately. All of which merely served to emphasize the general air of sadness that surrounded her. In all the years she’d known Sam Carter, she’d only seen her this way one time before—when Colonel O’Neill had been stranded on Edora for three months.

And Janet knew it was different this time, whatever hidden feelings Sam had for O’Neill hadn’t diminished over the years. At her request, Jonas had shown her several of the scenarios Athena had used to torture O’Neill, so she knew some of what Sam was feeling—guilt, remorse, anger, fear. Maybe she’d been mistaken to ignore her friend’s condition, counting on Teal’c and Jonas to help her through this time. 

“I believe I shall partake of my evening meal,” Teal’c said suddenly. 

Their eyes met and Janet recognized the concern in the Jaffa’s dark eyes. He was giving her the opportunity to speak to Sam alone and she gave him a small smile of thanks. “Goodnight, Teal’c,” she said, watching as the large man left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Sam,” she prompted, when the other woman just remained sitting there, staring off into space. “Have you heard anything I’ve said to you?”

Sam looked at her then. “What, Janet?”

Janet Fraiser studied at her friend; she’d tried the kind and understanding approach, maybe it was time for something more direct. “Sam, I know you’re hurting, I know all of you are hurting. But you’ve got to snap out of it. This isn’t good for you and you’re going to be in no condition to help the Colonel when those devices get here!”

“Janet, I don’t know what you expect me to do!” Sam stood, clearly agitated and started wringing her hands together.

“What I expect you to do,” Janet said firmly, “is to take care of yourself. Eat properly, get a good nights sleep—with chemical assistance if necessary—so that when those machines get here day after tomorrow, you’re in good condition.” She was on a roll now. “No sitting up in the infirmary all night. I’m going to call in a prescription for a sleeping pill, I don’t care if you stay on base, but if you don’t stop by the infirmary and pick it up, I’ll have Cynthia deliver it to you in person.”

Sam’s eyes were wide; she looked like she’d just been slapped. And Janet guessed maybe it had been a verbal slap of sorts. Though when Sam’s mouth started to tremble, Janet wondered if she’d pushed her too far. Sam suddenly took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Has it been that bad, Janet?” she whispered.

“Oh, honey,” she said, wrapping her arm around the other woman’s waist and hugging her, much like she would comfort her own daughter. “I know how much you care about him.” Another shudder rippled through Sam. “And its okay, it’s okay. But you’ve got to pull yourself together, otherwise you’re not going to be in any condition to help Colonel O’Neill when he really needs it.”

Sam took another deep breath and Janet released her hold on her and smiled encouragingly. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Sam looked around her messy lab, as if seeing it properly for the first time in days, before their eyes met again. “I know I haven’t been my usual self,” she admitted haltingly. “I just…Janet, what they did to him….”

“I know, honey. I know what they did.” Janet knew she was treading a fine line here, manipulating the other woman’s emotions right, but it was for her own good. “It wasn’t your fault. You’ve got to be strong now, for him. Yes, I know Athena used his feelings for you against him, but if she hadn’t discovered those feelings, she’d have found something else and he’d still be in the same situation.” 

“You’re right, I know I shouldn’t blame myself,” she finally said, though her voice lacked her normal conviction. “But Janet,” Sam continued, her eyes still shadowed. “I can’t ignore the fact that if he didn’t care for me, he wouldn’t be in a coma.”

Janet felt like she was beating her head against a brick wall. “Look,” she finally said, “I won’t expect you to come out with me and Cassie tonight, but I do expect you to go to the dining hall now. Teal’c and Jonas are there, have some soup, and then go to the infirmary and get the sleeping pill from Cynthia. Doctor’s orders.”

Sam smiled—a real one this time, Fraiser noted. “Come on,” she said easily, “I’ll walk you there.” She didn’t even try to conceal the fact that she wanted to make sure Sam actually got to the dining hall.

“The Colonel is right,” Sam said, following her out of the lab. “You are a Napoleonic power-monger.”

Janet chuckled, relief filling her. “Oh believe me, you have no idea.” Things were far from right for Sam and the rest of SG1, but Sam’s willingness to at least acknowledge her current state was a beginning. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“Now!”_

_Jack blinks; he can barely hear Carter above the chatter of their weapons and the constant scrabbling noise of thousands of replicators swarming on their position. But he hears the urgency and it’s what he’s been waiting for; Jack pulls the detonator out of his vest pocket and presses the button._

_“Go! Go! Go!” he shouts, continuing to fire his SPAZ -12 as he backs towards the event horizon. Off to his right, out of his peripheral vision, he sees Teal’c back through the gate, swallowed by the event horizon. The room is almost overrun with replicators now, the noise almost deafening. On his left, Carter is next, still firing her SPAZ when she too disappears and he’s right behind her, letting loose with one last volley before he feels the tug of the event horizon._

_In the split second before the wormhole pulls him in, Jack thinks he feels the faintest hint of a blast as the C4 explodes through the deceleration drive, but then the next thing he knows, he’s tumbling backwards through the gate and lands flat on his ass in…a meadow?_

_“Sir? Are you all right?”_

_“Yeah, Carter,” he murmurs, opening his eyes. The sun is so bright, he can barely see her, but then she kneels down next to him and leans over, temporarily blocking the sun and he sees her concerned face. The ground is warm beneath him, the grass starting to tickle his neck. The sun is beating down on them and after the recycled atmosphere on the Beliskner, the warm breeze and fresh air are welcome. “I’m fine,” he says, giving her a lop-sided smile._

_She ducks her head and smiles, the way he knew she would, and thoughts of spaceships and their Stargate exploding in the atmosphere over Earth are suddenly the last thing on his mind. When she looks at him again, her smile slowly changes and suddenly the warmth Jack feels has nothing to do with the sun on P4X-234._

_Gracefully rising to her feet, Sam holds out her hand to him and he takes it, letting her help him up. He doesn’t want to let go, but once he’s standing he doesn’t really have a reason to keep holding it, so he lets his fingers slide out of hers. Jack finally looks around, relieved to find Teal’c doing the threat assessment he should have been doing. The planet looks much like he remembers, the Stargate located in a broad, grassy valley; the closest settlement, a small military outpost that serves as the entry and exit point for all gate travel on the planet._

_He looks around for Carter and to his surprise, she’s over at the DHD. A shadow seems to fall over the valley, the sun suddenly not so bright and the normal meadow sounds don’t seem so friendly anymore. Jack’s hands tighten on his weapon and he strides past Teal’c over to the DHD._

_“Whatcha’ doing, Carter?” His voice is harsh and she pauses, her hand hovering over a glyph, before she presses it._

_“Dialing home.”_

_Jack hears the gate start to rotate as the chevrons engage, the center crystal lighting up, shining dully in the sunlight. He grabs her hand before she can press it; she looks at him, her eyes puzzled and she tugs on her arm, frowning when his fingers tighten on her wrist. “Sir?”_

_His eyes narrow, her tone isn’t disrespectful, but there’s an urgency in it that he doesn’t understand. “What’s the hurry, Carter?” he says easily enough, forcing a smile to his face. “Hammond won’t have the second gate out of storage yet.”_

_“We should try, sir.” She pulls on her arm again, but he doesn’t let go. Jack hears the gate slowly grind to a halt and the center crystal goes dark as they stand frozen over the DHD. “Sir…Jack…what’s wrong?” Her voice is low and intimate, her blue eyes troubled as she looks at him._

_He looks at her, not sure what to say. He just knows something is wrong, they can’t go home yet. “I—”_

_“Is there a problem?”_

_Jack lets go of her arm the minute he hears Teal’c. “Nah,” he says quickly, ignoring the confusion on Carter’s face and the raised eyebrow from Teal’c. “Nothing’s wrong.” They don’t believe him; but Teal’c cants his head slightly and Sam steps back from the DHD._

_“We’ll try tomorrow, Carter,” Jack says, forcing a note of cheerfulness into his voice which, judging by the looks of his companions, doesn’t fool them at all._

_~*~*~*~*~*~*~_

_When Jack hears the approaching footsteps, he doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s Carter. She hasn’t been hiding the fact that she’s been watching him all evening and he knew she’d come to find him, maybe it’s part of the reason he decided to take the late night stroll. It isn’t that he’s not enjoying the hospitality of Captain Teverian; the commander of the small garrison stationed at the outpost is just as warm and friendly as Jack remembers, welcoming them with open arms and offering them refuge for as long as they need, but he feels unsettled._

_The evening is balmy and while Carter discarded her BDU jacket hours earlier, he’s still wearing his TAC vest; the SPAZ-12 back in their guest quarters at the compound; the nine mil tucked into his waistband, resting comfortably in the small of his back. His nighttime stroll has brought him to the Stargate, standing quiet and majestic in the moonlight; the double moons of P4X-234 shine brightly down on them and Jack wonders if the men in the moons are laughing at him._

_“Beautiful evening, sir.”_

_Sam stops next to him and he can smell the slightly piney scent of the soap the Xiomarians favor mixed in with the scent that is uniquely Sam. He doesn’t say anything, merely nodding in response to her observation. She stands quietly next to him for several minutes, the sounds of the night slowly starting up again, the chirping of the insects and night birds filling in the silence._

_“I think maybe I’ll try the gate again.”_

_She moves quickly, striding over to the DHD and Jack is momentarily frozen in place, panic sweeping through him. Her hand moves swiftly over the glyphs, the soft orange glow as each one engages highlighting the determination on her face. When the center crystal lights up, Jack is suddenly released from his immobility._

_“Carter!” he shouts, anger mixing with his fear now. “Don’t!”_

_She glances at him and Jack can’t read the expression on her face. “I have to, sir,” she says, her hand descending to the center crystal. She presses it and Jack stops in his tracks; the Stargate whooshes to life, the event horizon settling calmly into place. The area around the Stargate is now bathed in the glow from the event horizon and Jack just stares at the rippling blue surface._

_“We can go home.”_

_Sam’s is standing next to him now, her hand resting lightly on his arm and he looks blankly at her. She’s wrong…and while he doesn’t know why she’s wrong, he knows they can’t go to Earth. Her hand glides down his arm and her hand slips into his, her fingers twining with his. “Trust me, Jack,” she says, her voice gentle. “Let’s go home.”_

_She starts to walk towards the gate, pulling on his hand, and he takes a few hesitant steps, his heart pounding, that panicked feeling welling up inside, before he can’t go any farther. “No,” he says, tugging on her hand now, and she stops. “We can’t, not yet. Maybe tomorrow,” he lies, knowing full well nothing that nothing is going to change overnight._

_“Sir…Jack…what’s wrong?”_

_The concern and understanding he sees on her face is almost his undoing. He wants to tell her, but something inside him knows he can’t share his fears with her, it’s safer for her…safer for all of them, if he doesn’t. It’s his job to protect his team…to protect her. “Nothing, Carter,” he says, forcing a confidence into his voice that he’s far from feeling. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”_

_When he tugs on his hand this time, she lets go and he walks away as the event horizon dissipates, leaving her standing alone in the moonlight._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam moved her thumb and pressed the button, disengaging the machine. The neural connection dissolved and when her eyes opened, she was back in the observation room at the SGC. Sabrina Grainger and Doctor Eric Avila, the current expert from Area Fifty-one on the machines, rapidly disconnected her from the device. 

“Well?” Jonas asked eagerly, helping her out of the unit.

Sam looked at the hopeful faces of Jonas, Teal’c and Doctor Grainger; Janet and Doctor Avila hovered over the Colonel now, disconnecting him from the machine. Feeling slightly lightheaded, Sam sank down onto a nearby chair. “I was able to replay the scenario we agreed on.” She looked at Teal’c. “We gated to P4X-234, just like we did when we blew up Thor’s ship.” Teal’c nodded and she continued, Fraiser and Avila joining the group. Sam glanced over to where O’Neill once more lay in the hospital bed, still unresponsive. 

“And everything was just like it was before. But when I tried to change what happened, it didn’t work.”

“How didn’t it work—precisely?” Doctor Avila asked.

“I dialed Earth’s address and the gate engaged, but the Colonel wouldn’t leave.” She shook her head, remembering the fear and longing on his face. “He was terrified of returning to Earth.”

“That is most unlike O’Neill,” Teal’c murmured.

“I know,” Sam added. “I thought once I made contact with him, it would be okay; that he’d believe me.”

“It may take more than one attempt,” Sabrina commented, clearly disappointed as well.

Doctor Avila nodded. “Even with the modifications we’ve made in the units, our volunteers found that it took several attempts to actually initiate any change in the outcome of the scenarios programmed into the machine.”

“And you weren’t working with two subjects either, were you?” Jonas asked.

“Our experience with two subjects is limited, but when we have, both of them were willing participants in the experience.”

“And we don’t know how ‘willing’ Colonel O’Neill is,” Jonas said.

“When can we try again?” Sam asked.

“Not for several hours.” Fraiser spoke firmly. 

“But Janet—” Sam started to protest. 

Fraiser raised her hand, cutting her off. “I don’t want to hear it, Sam. You need to rest and I want to monitor Colonel O’Neill’s condition before we subject either of you to this device again. There may be a delayed affect.”

“Doctor Avila and I can use the time to interrogate the memory buffer, we might be able to tweak the parameters to improve the chances of a better outcome,” Sabrina added, clearly trying to put a positive spin on the waiting.

Fraiser had that ‘don’t mess with me’ look on her face, so Sam decided it would be better to give in gracefully. “Okay,” she said, unable to hide all of her reluctance. 

“You can start again at sixteen hundred.” Fraiser looked at Avila. “Will that be enough time?”

The scientist nodded and while Sam wanted to scream that five hours was too long to wait, she knew when she was outmaneuvered. Standing, she followed Jonas and Teal’c out of the room before Fraiser ordered her out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_“Now!”_

_Jack blinks; he can barely hear Carter above the chatter of their weapons and the constant scrabbling noise of thousands of replicators swarming on their position. But he hears the urgency and it’s what he’s been waiting for; Jack pulls the detonator out of his vest pocket and presses the button._

_“Go! Go! Go!” he shouts, continuing to fire his SPAZ -12 as he backs towards the event horizon. Off to his right, out of his peripheral vision, he sees Teal’c back through the gate, swallowed by the event horizon. The room is almost overrun with replicators now, the noise almost deafening. On his left, Carter is next, still firing her SPAZ when she too disappears and he’s right behind her, letting loose with one last volley before he feels the tug of the wormhole._

_In the split second before the wormhole pulls him in, Jack thinks he feels the faintest hint of a blast as the C4 explodes through the deceleration drive, but then the next thing he knows, he’s tumbling backwards through the gate and lands flat on his ass in…a meadow?_

_“O’Neill? Are you injured?”_

_Jack jumps to his feet, the SPAZ-12 still held tightly in his hands. “No, T,” he replies. Squinting against the bright sun, he quickly scans the area around the Stargate. “Where’s Carter?”_

_Before Teal’c can answer, Jack hears the familiar sound of chevrons engaging on the Stargate and he turns towards the noise, all his senses on alert for who—or what—might appear through the gate. But he quickly realizes the chevrons are lighting up in sequence for an outgoing wormhole and he looks towards the DHD._

_“Carter!” he shouts, fear and anger filling him when he sees her standing there, pressing the glyphs. “What the hell are you doing?” he rages, running over to the DHD._

_“Dialing Earth,” she says, not looking at him, slapping her hand down on the center crystal just as he reaches her. The Stargate activates immediately, the energy vortex whooshing towards the DHD and then stabilizing into the glistening blue event horizon._

_“Dammit!” he shouts, dropping the SPAZ and grabbing her by her shoulders, shaking her. “We cannot go to Earth!”_

_He freezes when, instead of pushing him away, she cradles his face between her hands. “Its okay, Jack,” she says, her voice steady, her blues eyes pleading with him. “It’s safe, you can go back.”_

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jack drops his hands from her shoulders and starts backing away from her._

_“You’re safe, at the SGC.”_

_“What the hell are you talking about?” The sun is so bright, it’s blinding him and he feels a sharp stab of pain explode through his brain, dropping him to his knees. He barely hears Carter’s soft cry of dismay through the pain roaring through his skull._

_“I will help you, O’Neill.” Teal’c is beside him, lifting him to his feet._

_“No!” Jack shouts, breaking free from Teal’c. He presses his hands to his head, trying to blot out the pain, all the while backing away from Carter, Teal’c and the still active Stargate. “You don’t understand! We can’t go back!”_

_“Jack!”_

_He hears the pleading in Sam’s voice and he wants to do as she asks, but he knows if he goes through the Stargate he’ll die. “I’m sorry, Sam,” he tells her, meeting her eyes for one brief moment, before he lunges towards the DHD and grabs a large rock from around its base and smashes it down onto the center crystal; orange shards flying through the air._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s just not working!” 

Jonas watched while his friend paced the small confines of his office. She was agitated and upset and he didn’t know how to help her. With each failed attempt to reach O’Neill—and there had been four now—the stress only increased. Jonas knew that not only was Sam feeling the pressure of her failure to reach the Colonel, but so was everyone else. Nothing had been said officially, but Jonas knew courtesy of the very efficient base grapevine that the machines on loan to them from Area Fifty-one were due to be shipped back in forty-eight hours.

“What will become of O’Neill if we are not successful?” Teal’c sat quietly at the corner of Jonas’ desk, the Jaffa also watching Major Carter as she paced.

“That’s easy,” Sabrina Grainger said from the open doorway. Sam stopped her pacing and frowned at the interruption, but Jonas nodded and Sabrina came in. “They’ll ship him off somewhere to vegetate, just like they’re going to do with Perry.” 

“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Jonas said hurriedly, trying to offset the pained look on Sam’s face. Standing up, he gave Sabrina his chair, sitting on the edge of the desk. “Maybe we just need to approach him differently.”

“How?” Sam asked, “I’ve tried reasoning with him; I’ve pleaded with him. Heck, this last time I even tried to drag him through the event horizon, but I couldn’t, he’s too strong.” Sam sounded and looked completely dejected. “He is terrified and he believes that he’s protecting me and Teal’c by forcing us to stay on that planet.”

“Sabrina,” Jonas said, turning to their guest. “Doctor Avila said that the machines have been used with two people before.” Sabrina nodded and Jonas continued. “Is what Sam’s trying to do different somehow?”

Sabrina replied slowly. “I’m not completely familiar with the two-person studies, we were just starting with those experiments when I was pulled to the nanite project. But basically, the two individuals were attached to separate machines and were both active in the process, co-directing the scenarios.”

“So…Colonel O’Neill being in a coma could affect how the devices work?” When Sabrina nodded, Jonas turned to Teal’c and Sam; a vague memory nudged at his memory. “How is that process different from when you were first exposed to the machines on P7J-989?” 

“Only the memories of Daniel Jackson and Colonel O’Neill were capable of being used with the devices,” Teal’c replied. “Major Carter and I were only observers, the technology was not compatible with our physiology; Major Carter because of her blending with the Tok’ra Jolinar and because of my symbiote.”

“But that shouldn’t be a problem this time, right?”

“The new interface bypasses that part of the devices protocols,” Sam commented.

“Okay, so that’s not an issue this time.” Jonas knew he was missing something…. “When you were an observer, were you able to make changes in the outcome of the event?”

“I do not believe so, Jonas Quinn.”

“Jonas, I don’t see how this is going to get us anywhere,” Sam said, once more starting to pace, her hands moving agitatedly while she talked. “The scenario we’re using is a shared memory, both of us went through that experience together. It shouldn’t be an issue that I’m the active participant and he’s the observer, even if he is in a coma.”

“No, wait,” Sabrina interrupted. “Jonas maybe on to something. We’re assuming that by bringing Colonel O’Neill into your version of that memory that we can manipulate a change that he will accept. What if it needs to be the other way around?”

Sam stopped, her brow creased in concentration. “Is what you’re suggesting even possible?”

“I do not understand,” Teal’c rumbled.

Sam didn’t say anything and Jonas answered. “I think I do, Teal’c.” He looked first at Sam and then to Sabrina. “What you’re saying is that Sam needs to go into Colonel O’Neill’s memory.” Sabrina nodded.

“More than that,” Sam said softly. “I need to go to wherever he’s hiding from Charlotte Mayfield…and Ba’al.”

“Do you know where that is?” Sabrina asked.

Sam’s expression was bleak when she shook her head. Jonas couldn’t believe they could be so close and yet so far…unless…. “Wait,” he said excitedly. “I think I know where.” 

Squeezing past Teal’c, he pulled open one of the desk drawers and pulled out the disks they’d confiscated from Mayfield’s warehouse. “I know it’s on one of these disks….” He finally found the disk he was searching for and quickly slipped it into the computer.

“Jonas,” Sam protested, looking pale. “Do we really need to watch these again?”

“Wait, Sam,” he said, his eyes glued to the monitor as he fast forwarded, scanning the blurred images on the disk. “Yes, it’s right here.” He paused the recording and waited for them to join him. 

“Jonas,” Sam protested again, even as she crowded behind the desk with Sabrina and Teal’c to watch.

Jonas clicked the play button and re-started the disk. The image was dark and picture grainy, but O’Neill was easily recognizable, the blonde-haired woman lying with her head in his lap, not so easily recognized, but as soon as O’Neill spoke, the affection and concern in his voice made her identity painfully obvious to those who knew them.

_“What I do know is that when we get out of here, I’m taking you fishing. Have I ever told you how beautiful Minnesota is in the summertime?”_

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_Sam’s never been to the cabin, but she recognizes it right away; the rustic wood structure concealing what she’s been told is a surprisingly modern interior. It’s summer, the sun is shining brightly; she can hear the buzzing of various insects, the sound of birds and the soft lap of water._

_It’s so beautiful, she’s drawn to see more before she goes to look for him, so she walks through the grass, along the side of the cabin, towards the sound of water. Rounding the corner, the first thing she sees is the crystal blue lake, the sun sparkling off the ripples on the surface. She can smell the fresh water, along with an occasional fishier whiff. It’s more than she expected and she’s filled with a yearning for what could have been._

_She takes a few more steps and she sees him—he suddenly straightens up in the lawn chair where he’s been lounging, the fishing pole jerking up. He must have heard her, because he turns around, a broad smile filling his face when he sees her; ever on the alert, even up here. Her breath catches; she can’t move for a moment—he looks so different. He looks younger…happier…and it makes her heart ache._

_“Sam,” he calls, lazily unfolding himself from the lawn chair and standing up. “Done in town already?”_

_She’s playing this all by ear, so she smiles and walks towards him. “Yeah,” she agrees. “All done.” When she reaches the wood of the dock, she stops and asks, “Catch anything?”_

_He chuckles. “Now, Sam,” he drawls, “you know it’s not about ‘catching’ the fish.”_

_She scrambles for the answer; she’s heard this line before, remembering a long ago conversation with Teal’c. “Right…it’s about the fish-ING.”_

_“Exactly!” Jack grins, setting the fishing pole aside and steps over the cooler next to his chair. “But enough with the fishing, they’re not biting anyway.”_

_Jack keeps walking towards her and she watches, transfixed and fascinated with this side of him. She always suspected this man existed; she’s seen glimpses of him in those brief unguarded moments when the burden of his job and responsibilities slips past his normal barriers. It’s the hidden side of him that she aches to learn more about…to see…to touch._

_When he steps into her personal space though, her first instinct is to back away; and then she has to remind herself this isn’t real when he wraps his around round her. He links his hands at the small of her back and smiles, their bodies pressed together from the waist down. Sam clutches at his shoulders, not sure if it’s to pull him closer or push him away; his smile is lazy and so incredibly intimate, seducing her with appalling ease. Her nails dig through the material of his shirt, into the firm muscles of his arms, when he lowers his head._

_Her heart is pounding in her chest, the blood rushing through her ears and the look in his eyes is more than she can bear. He smells like the lake and outdoors, his breath washes briefly along her cheek and she closes her eyes when his lips brush lightly against hers. His first touch is tentative, as if he’s asking her permission and, god help her, she doesn’t move, her lips parting on a soft gasp. The next touch of his lips against hers isn’t questioning or tentative, he’s confident and bold, sure of his welcome._

_Kissing Jack O’Neill is both wonderful and terrifying; part of her rejoices in the utter rightness of being in his arms, free to kiss him and be kissed in return. Yet she knows this is nothing more than a dream…a fantasy, and no matter how much she wants to give into the desire threatening to overwhelm her, she can’t. She moans softly when his teeth tug gently on her lower lip and she wants to weep. Loosening her death grip on his shoulders, she glides one of her hands to his nape, cradling his head while she reluctantly pulls her lips from his. He mutters something so softly, she can’t hear, but he’s not dissuaded, his lips gliding along her jaw, leaving a trail of moist kisses._

_“Jack,” she murmurs, raking her nails lightly through the short hairs at his nape, hoping to get his attention. “It’s time to go home.”_

_“We are home,” he rumbles, his teeth nipping lightly at her ear lobe._

_“No, Jack,” she says, her voice stronger. She finds the strength to take a step back, letting her hands fall to her side. He doesn’t let go of her, his hands sliding down her back to her hips, a look of confusion on his face. She hates that this is the only way, but she has to be strong—for both of them. “It’s time to go back to the SGC.”_

_His face hardens, his expression cool, the only sign of emotion the clenching and unclenching of his fingers on her hips. “I already told you, Sam, I’m not going back.”_

_“Jack,” she says again, reaching up and cradling his face between her trembling hands. “You’re safe now, no one can hurt you, Athena can’t hurt you.”_

_He wrenches out of her grasp at the mention of the Goa’uld’s name, his face suddenly pale beneath his healthy tan. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snaps, turning his back on her and walking out onto the dock._

_Sam quickly follows and grabs his arm; pulling him around, and to her relief, he stops and turns, his face stony. “Jack,” she keeps her voice soft now, her hand gliding lightly down his arm, intertwining her fingers with his. “She can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe. We need you to come back…I need you to come back.”_

_She catches a brief flash of pain in his eyes, before they’re once more dark and distant. “I’m not going back, Sam,” he repeats. His voice is harsh, but she hears the slightest hint of uncertainty in it._

_They stand there, poised on the deck, the gentle sound of the water and the woods surrounding them. Sam doesn’t know what else to do, how to reach him; she never thought it would be this hard—or that he could ever be so afraid._

_“Jack, I know she did terrible things to you.” He breathes in deeply, his hand tightening painfully around hers. “You have to believe me, she can’t hurt you now.”_

_He looks down towards their joined hands and doesn’t say anything for a long, tense moment, before he finally looks at her, his eyes bleak. “It doesn’t matter what she did to me, Sam. It’s what she did to my team…and to you.”_

_She thought her heart couldn’t break anymore. “She can’t hurt us anymore. We’re safe,” Sam replies, trying to convince him. “We’re all safe. And we need you to come back to us.”_

_“None of us are ever safe,” he says, his eyes and his voice weary. “That’s why we have to stay here.”_

_Sam can feel him slipping away, even with his hand warm and strong in hers. Standing there, looking into his dark and tormented eyes, she has fleeting images of people she’s lost in her life—family…her mother…team mates fallen in battle…Martouf…Daniel. She doesn’t want to lose Jack too, she won’t lose him._

_She opens her mouth to tell him that he can’t hide here forever when she’s blind-sided with the hypocrisy of her accusation and her mouth snaps shut. She’s just as guilty of hiding…hiding her feelings for him, hiding behind the safety of rules and regulations instead of facing the reality of her love, no matter the consequences._

_“Jack, I want you to come back, but I can’t force you, the decision has to be yours.” Gently freeing her hand from his, she sighs softly, a sad smile on her face. “I love you. Come back to me…please.”_

_The anguished look on his face is almost her undoing, but somehow Sam finds the strength to turn her back on him and walk across the lawn towards the front of the cabin, leaving him alone on the dock. Grasshoppers jump frantically out of the way in grass ahead of her. She shivers, wrapping her arms around her, the warmth of the sun having no affect against the chill in her heart._

_“Sam! You promised you’d never leave!”_

_She falters for a brief moment, turning back to look at him. He’s still standing where she left him on the dock, silhouetted by the sun with the water sparkling behind him. She can’t see his face clearly, but she has no trouble hearing the pain in his voice. She presses the button in her hand that will disconnect her from the machine before she can weaken. “I haven’t left,” she calls to him. “I’m right here…and I’ll be waiting for you.”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sam, honey.” Janet Fraiser laid a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You need to get some rest.”

The observation room where Colonel O’Neill slept in his coma was quiet and dimly lit; the evening duty nurse keeping a watchful eye on her patient. Not that O’Neill required much monitoring, his condition apparently unchanged after the latest use of the machines. His chest rose and fell in the easy rhythm of sleep, his heart rate slow and steady, to all appearances he merely appeared to be asleep. 

Sam, on the other hand, looked exhausted, the dark circles under her eyes back with a vengeance. It had been almost twenty-four hours now since they’d reversed the process and Sam had made the journey into the Colonel’s brain. Sam hadn’t said much about what had transpired between them, just that she’d made contact and had tried to persuade him to ‘return’. Janet didn’t really need to know anymore than that; she knew firsthand the convoluted and complicated dynamics involved in the non-relationship between the two of them. And given what she knew about the method used to torture the Colonel, she could guess what had happened.

Sam barely moved, her eyes fixed on O’Neill’s face, both her hands clasping one of his where it rested on top of the covers. “I can’t, Janet. I told him I’d be here when he came back.”

The faintest sound of cloth rustling caught Janet’s ears over the low hum of the monitors and she looked towards the doorway, Teal’c stood just inside the open door, his expression even more somber than usual. Janet inclined her head towards Sam and when Teal’c nodded, she spoke, resting both her hands on Sam’s shoulders. “Teal’c’s here, he’ll sit with the Colonel while you get some rest.” She knew better than to suggest that Sam would sleep.

Sam didn’t look at either of them, her head moving almost imperceptibly in a silent no. “I can’t.”

“Major Carter,” Teal’c stepped further into the room. “You require sleep. I will maintain your vigil.”

Sam’s shoulders tensed beneath Janet’s hands and her blonde head lifted at the sound of the Jaffa’s deep voice. “Teal’c,” she said, “I can’t.”

Janet sighed inwardly. She didn’t want to pull rank and force Sam to take a break, but it looked like she was being given no other choice by the woman. “Sam—”

Whatever plea or order she’d been about to give was interrupted by the unexpected sound of beeping when one of the monitors attached to O’Neill started to alarm. Janet frowned; glancing quickly at the monitor.

“Janet!” Sam suddenly jumped to her feet, jostling her; the chair Sam was sitting on falling over. “What’s happening to him?”

“He’s seizing!” Janet moved past Sam, pushing her out of the way. O’Neill thrashed wildly on the bed, his body contorting viciously, all of his muscles jerking spasmodically, the beeping monitors providing a bizarre musical backdrop to the seizure tearing through his body. “Lachelle! Ten milligrams of diazepam stat! And get the code team in here.”

The nurse was there almost immediately, thrusting a syringe into her hands. “Maintain his airway,” Janet instructed, already attaching the syringe to the intravenous line and injecting the medicine. The rest of the emergency medical team arrived as she finished injecting the drug; one of the technicians relieving Lachelle at O’Neill’s head. “Careful,” she said to the two technicians trying to control O’Neill’s thrashing limbs. “Don’t hurt him.” 

“Get a midazolam drip ready and be prepared to intubate,” Fraiser ordered next. The nurses and technicians jumped to carry out her orders and she did a quick survey of her patient. The convulsions seemed to be slowing down, though his muscles still jerked spasmodically, they didn’t seem quite as powerful. And even though the monitors still sounded their shrill alarms, his heart rate and blood pressure were all within normal. 

“Ready, Doctor.” Lachelle had the intubation tray open and ready; the technician had the bag and mask over O’Neill’s nose and mouth, his hand rhythmically squeezing the bag.

Hurrying to the head to the head of the bed, Janet realized Sam was still there, standing on the periphery of the room, her eyes wide and a hand held over her mouth. “Teal’c,” Fraiser said, jerking her head towards Sam. It only took a word; the big Jaffa nodded and made his way to Sam’s side, placing a protective arm around her shoulders.

Satisfied that the situation was under control, she grabbed the laryngoscope and positioned herself at O’Neill’s head, preparing to intubate. “All right,” she said to the technician, who removed the bag and mask. Placing her hand on his chin and preparing to open his mouth, Fraiser was shocked when O’Neill’s eyes opened and he reached up with those lightning fast reflexes of his and grabbed her wrist.

“Doc,” he croaked hoarsely, “what’s going on?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam pulled her rental car into the circular dirt driveway in front of the cabin, experiencing a disquieting sense of déjà vu. It was late spring this time, not summer, the trees bright green with new growth, the fir and spruce providing a darker counterpoint. Daisies bloomed in profusion along the front porch and around the base of the mailbox, the faded ‘O’Neill’ just visible on the battered box.

It had been a six weeks since his miraculous recovery and a month since his release from the infirmary—and she hadn’t seen him once in all that time. At first, Fraiser hadn’t let anyone in to see him, but as all the test results and scans came back normal, she’d lifted the visiting restrictions. The first time Sam had gone to see him, accompanied by Teal’c and Jonas, the sympathetic nurse told her that while Jonas and Teal’c were okay to go in, the Colonel had requested not to see her. Not believing her, Sam had been about to force her way past the woman when Fraiser had appeared.

_“I’m sorry, Sam,” Janet said, her voice gentle, but firm as she pulled her aside, letting a confused looking Jonas and Teal’c go past them into the private room. “Colonel O’Neill has left specific instructions that he doesn’t want to see you.”_

_Sam felt sick, her knees shaky. “I don’t understand, Janet.”_

_“He won’t say why, honey.” Fraiser’s arm went around her waist, giving her what was meant to be a comforting squeeze. “Give him time, he’s been through a lot.”_

_“He didn’t want to come back,” Sam whispered._

_“What?” Janet asked._

_“He told me he didn’t want to come back.” Sam made a soft sound of distress, “But I begged him…and now he won’t see me.”_

_“Give him time, Sam,” Fraiser repeated. “I’m sure he’ll change his mind once he’s had time to process everything.”_

Well, she’d given him time and she’d waited every day for the okay to go see him. Teal’c was his most frequent visitor, along with Jonas—much to her amazement. Malcolm Barrett had spent three whole days with the Colonel just prior to his discharge, interviewing him, trying to glean all the information he could about the still missing Charlotte Mayfield and her operation. And then one day four weeks ago, she had made her daily visit to the infirmary to check on him, only to be told he’d been released.

Sam knew from Teal’c that O’Neill had gone almost immediately to his cabin, which she guessed was not so surprising. And while she thought she understood why he didn’t want to see her, it still hurt unbearably that she had lost his trust—and whatever else there was between them. He might not want to see her, and while she wouldn’t accuse him of running away just yet, there was one thing of which she was certain, she was through running.

Getting out of the car, Sam followed her instincts and walked along the side of the cabin, towards the sound of water. The air was still slightly chill, though the sun was warm and she was glad she was wearing a heavy sweater. A light breeze blew off the water, the sun sparkling on the ripples. It was an idyllic scene and eerily enough, just like the one she remembered from his memories.

And like in that memory, he sat slouched in a lawn chair on the dock, this time angled so he could easily see anyone approaching, a fishing pole in his hands. There was a cooler next to the chair and resting casually on its closed lid was his nine mil. He had to have heard her approach, but just to be safe, she stopped halfway across the lawn. “Colonel!”

His hands moved smoothly on the fishing pole, reeling in the line; catching the bobber, he carefully placed the hook in the cork end of the rod. “Carter,” he said, setting the pole down and unfolding himself from the lawn chair, finally facing her. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

She took several steps closer, using the few seconds it gave her to try and gauge his mood. He looked good, rested and healthy, his skin no longer gray beneath his tan. He wore jeans and a heavy navy fleece pull-over over what looked like a green polo shirt, his habitual olive drab ball cap on his head. His carefully bland expression told her nothing beyond idle curiosity, but she knew him too well to be fooled by his apparent nonchalance. Her stomach was twisted in knots, but she had made him a promise.

“I told you I’d be waiting for you, Jack.” She walked slowly to the start of the dock, her eyes never leaving his. “How long are you going to make me wait?” 

It was a challenge, but she wasn’t going to change her mind, she was tired of running and hiding. She liked to think she was a one-trial learner and even though it had taken another attempt by a Goa’uld to torture him for information, the lesson had finally sunk in.

“If we start this, Sam, there’ll be no going back.” Unexpected relief flooded through her when she realized he wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t understand; his voice was soft, but she heard the determination—and warning—in it. 

“I know,” she said, stepping onto the dock, the boards creaking as she walked towards him, not stopping until she stood right in front of him. Reaching out, she took hold of one of his unresisting hands with one of hers. “I’m ready,” she stated simply. “Whatever it takes. I can’t go on this way any longer, pretending that I don’t care…that I don’t love you.”

His dark eyes flashed with a depth of emotion so deep and strong, she felt a momentary frisson of panic. Before this moment, she’d only had brief glimpses of the intense feelings he kept carefully hidden and she’d always wondered if either of them would survive when they were unleashed. He moved then and wrapped his free arm around her waist, pulling her close. She went willingly into his embrace, releasing his hand and wrapping her arms around him. 

He took a shuddering breath, burying his face in her hair. “Don’t ever leave me,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

“Never…I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack had dreamt of this moment so often, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be disappointed, in his experience reality generally was never as good as his imagination. But this time he was wrong. In his dreams her skin had never been so soft and warm, the feeling of her supple body beneath his was a thousand times more erotic than he could ever have imagined, and the ease with which his hard body fit into her matching softness was the culmination of years of endless longing…and love. 

He was gratified when Sam gasped his name, her breath hitching on a soft sob, her arms and legs tightening around him as her orgasm crested and swelled through her. Thrusting deep, Jack surrendered to the maelstrom of love and desire surging through him, joining her in ecstasy. 

Afterwards, it was quiet in the dimly lit bedroom, the only sounds their ragged breathing and the faint sounds of the outdoors that filtered through the sturdy walls of the cabin. Jack managed to rouse himself enough to move off of Sam, but when she murmured a protest, her arms tightening around him; he shifted slightly onto his side, resting his head on her shoulder and flinging a leg over hers, keeping her securely in his embrace. 

Her breasts rose and fell under his cheek when she sighed in contentment; her fingers gliding lightly down his arm in an easy caress. He nestled deeper into her embrace, tugging the sheet up to their waists against the slight chill in the room. Cocooned in the warmth of his bed, Jack started to believe that he was going to heal. He still had nightmares, waking in the dark of the night, sweating and shaking, the chilling glow of Athena’s eyes burning in his dreams. But with Sam’s help—not to mention her love and infinite understanding—he knew he would heal. He owed her so much, the least of which was an explanation.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, confident she’d catch the oblique reference.

Her hand paused for a brief moment before resuming the leisurely caress. “I know what she did to you, Jack,” she replied quietly. “How she twisted your feelings…our feelings.” Her breasts rose and fell in another soft sigh. “I can’t blame you for wanting to protect yourself.”

“I knew you’d come for me,” he added.

He heard the smile in her voice when she answered, “Never leave anyone behind.”

An easy silence settled over the room and Jack relaxed even more, content in Sam’s arms. There was one more thing he needed to tell her though, she’d laid her heart and soul on the line for him—it was his turn now. Rising up on one elbow, he gazed down at her; she looked happy, her clear blue eyes filled with drowsy satisfaction. 

“I do love you, you know,” he murmured, lightly stroking her cheek.

Her answering smile was incandescent. “I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**EPILOG**

Nicole Chatham-Marshall mixed her husband’s pre-dinner cocktail, carefully measuring two fingers of the aged single malt whiskey into the expensive cut crystal tumbler before adding a single ice cube. Placing the elegant and ornate silver ice tongs back in the matching silver ice bucket, she pressed the mechanism hidden on the antique gold locket she wore on a long chain around her slender neck. Picking up the tumbler, she carefully emptied the minute amount of white powder in the small compartment of the locket, watching as the substance drifted down into the scotch. 

Closing the locket and tucking it back under the neckline of her demure ivory twin-set, she picked up the heavy tumbler and swirled it gently, looking idly out the window while the powder slowly dissolved. The grounds surrounding the mansion were carefully groomed and manicured; the flower beds a riot of brightly colored flowers. It really had been a stroke of luck—and incredibly irony—that had brought her into such delightful, and profitable, surroundings. 

Hearing her husband’s heavy tread on the stairs, Nicole turned from the window, catching a brief glimpse of her reflection in one of the mirrors framing the fireplace. She still wasn’t used to seeing herself with long curly black hair, she’d really have to see about finding a stylist who could tame the wild mass of curls and dye it her normal shade of golden blonde. Of course, all of that would have to wait….

“Nicole, darling.” 

She proffered her cheek for her husband to kiss, forcing a loving smile onto her face. “Benton,” she purred sweetly, handing him the tumbler of scotch. “How was your day?”

“Better,” he grumbled, taking a healthy drink of the amber liquid. “The last of the federal investigators left today. Damn that Mayfield woman! This investigation and their damn allegations have cost us a fortune in government contracts! It will be months before business is back to normal.”

When he tossed back the last of the scotch, she obediently took the glass and refilled it. “What about us, Benton?” she asked innocently, she was after all just a trophy wife.

“Oh, don’t worry, darling,” he told her, with a sly wink, setting his glass down on the bar. “Our interests, are shall we say, diverse enough. You won’t have to worry your sweet little head about anything.”

“Oh, Benton,” she cooed, “you are too good to me.”

His smile transformed into the lascivious leer she detested, but Nicole kept her smile planted firmly on her face, going willingly into his embrace. “Give your daddy a big kiss, baby,” Benton growled.

Nicole pouted playfully and puckered up, preparing to kiss her ‘daddy’ when Benton suddenly started sputtering, his arms dropping from around her. Clutching at his throat, his face turned an alarming shade of puce and he staggered, reaching out for her. Nicole stepped out of his reach, a cold look of revulsion on her face. 

“Nikki….” He gasped, dropping to his knees, spittle rolling down his chin, his chest rising and falling heavily with his erratic respirations. He gasped again, his eyes rolling back in his head as he fell onto the floor, his limbs twitching spasmodically.

Nicole casually strolled over to the intercom near the entryway. “Hanson?”

 _“Yes, madam?”_ The houseman’s voice sounded faintly over the intercom.

“Please call 911,” she instructed, looking back at the now still body of her husband. “I believe Mr. Marshall has suffered a stroke.”

_“Right away, madam!”_

Releasing the intercom button, Nicole walked back over to the bar, stepping carefully over husband’s body. She ignored her husband’s glass, she wasn’t worried that the police, or anyone for that matter, would find anything but scotch and water in the glass, if it were to be tested. The poison she’d used wasn’t a chemical that could be detected by the primitive and crude instruments of which the Tau’ri were so proud. 

Pouring herself a small measure of the scotch, Nicole once more gazed out the window at the neatly manicured lawn, her acute hearing catching the still far off sound of sirens. It truly had been a stroke of luck that the first suitable host she’d come across in her flight from the warehouse had been Benton Marshall’s foolish trophy wife. And while it had amused her to play Benton for a fool and hide in plain sight, perhaps it was time to cut her losses on this backwater planet.

The sound of the sirens grew louder and then abruptly cut off, followed by a pounding on the front door. Schooling her face to one of concern and grief, Nicole prepared to greet the rescue squad. As with her hair, there was plenty of time to decide what she wanted to do and besides, she’d never portrayed a grieving widow before. 

Hanson rushed into the room, a horrified look on his face when he saw his employer collapsed on the floor. The paramedics followed, immediately swarming over her husband, working frantically on his still body. 

Cuing the tears, Athena cried out dramatically, “Oh, thank god, you’re here!”

**THE END**


End file.
